Dear May:
On leaving, traveling, and what three years taught me about engineering.
You’re a strange month this year.
On the 15th a chapter closes. Three years at a place I grew into, that grew me up — the way you close a book you’ve read three times.
Then a few weeks on the other side of the earth, for family.
Then, on the other side of you, a new place. New problems. Names I don’t know yet.
I’ve spent the last few weeks reflecting, trying to understand what the last three years meant. I think I’ve figured out most of it now. It’s strange how a chapter makes the most sense in its closing pages, not its opening ones.
A few things that sounded obvious on paper. Different to live through.
The shape of the organization matters more than the logo on the paycheck. The same person doing the same work is seen very differently in different rooms. Not because of the person — because of the room. I used to think hard work closed every gap. It doesn’t. Some gaps are about fit.
Engineering isn’t typing. It’s judgment, taste, the ability to reason about what might go wrong before it does. AI makes the typing cheaper every quarter. The judgment part only gets more valuable. The abstraction level rising isn’t obsolescence — it’s a higher vantage point.
Sometimes the best career move is the messy one. A well-run company with clear roles teaches you depth. A scrappy one with nobody else teaches you everything. Both matter. The second one is where the compounding happens — if you survive it.
Endings clarify things. Not always comfortably. You see shapes at the end that you were too close to see in the middle. That’s not new knowledge — just a better angle. It settles faster than you’d expect.
Take your time, May. I’ll take mine.
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