A Return to the Tribe
Two weeks, two conferences: For the love of learning; for the love of people.
I was glad for the late evening darkness. With tears pouring down my cheeks I had to take a moment in the chill evening air. With a long breath and a short smile I finally felt able to keep walking back to the hotel.
To say “it’s been emotional” would be an understatement. It’s been the best two weeks for a very long time.
Last week in Amsterdam (AxonCon 2024) and this week in Copenhagen (GOTO Copenhagen) I gave my “Don’t Feed the Pigeons” talk. It’s a bit of a risky talk, with a lot of personal story and ideas to consider if or when you might end up intentionally building your own internal developer platform. I’ll be serialising the key messages from the talk over the coming weeks1 here.
(I used a silhouette for Jules throughout my “Don’t Feed the Pigeons” talk)
This talk uses one of many conversations I had with someone who became a great friend, Jules, during my chemoradiotherapy treatments in 2022. Through a question she asked me early in this process, to the conclusions I eventually drew not long before Jules very sadly passed away, I try to share just a small window into this incredible person.
(Introducing my talk in Amsterdam to an audience of fabulous “Event Sourcerers”)
Amsterdam was the first time I’ve given the talk publicly and the kindness and connection in the room afterwards was palpable. I’m not sure I’d ever felt that after one of my talks before. The comments I had from people were of one kind: “That was inspirational”. I needed that affirmation because I felt I was really taking a risk and I hoped the risk was worth it for the audience. From the response, it seemed like it just might be.
(The view from the scary seat; the keynote room at GOTO Copenhagen from the Stage)
This week in Copenhagen was the bigger test. In the keynote room I was nervous to my core that this might be a difficult talk for everyone to hear. Would the connection I’d felt when I’d practiced the talk with my colleagues, and then the broader community in Amsterdam, translate to a large, public audience at a strong technical conference? I had no idea. Fortunately I could hardly even see the audience—there’s always a few faces you can see and you kinda fixate on those to have someone you feel you are talking to 1-2-1—from the stage at times as I did my best not to break down during my story.
I couldn’t keep that up as I left the stage. One look to see Daniel Terhorst-North beaming and I fell to pieces. This kindest of people who knows all of the difficulties I’ve faced—some I brought on myself of course; some fairly out of my hands—gave me a hug I’ll remember for the rest of my life. I honestly tried not to cry and thankfully by the time I was out of the darkness of the room I had it together again.
Not for long though. I needed to make a call to Jules’ family. To let them know how it had gone. They’d all been part of creating the talk in the first place and they’d all been rooting for me. At the end of the day, as darkness sneaked across the fields opposite the venue and I started to wander back to the hotel, I got my chance to make that call.
I won’t share everything we spoke about, the laughter and tears alone probably give enough gist. Giving this talk, probably for the last time, brought forth a huge amount of emotions for us all, in particular for Jules’ husband, Dan. It felt like another goodbye to Jules. While my own grief was nothing compares to Dan and the family, the fact that Jules would now be remembered by an even larger group of people and that that part of the story was now over in a new sense was enough for us both to drop British inhibitions and wish we could give one another a hug as well.
"So often conferences inform but don’t inspire.
Your talk was the most inspirational I’ve ever seen."
Over the coming days I shared a number of messages with Dan and the family. Each time an attendee was brave enough to come and speak to me about how the talk had touched them, I let Dan know. I’ve never felt so connected to the beautiful people in the audience as I did this week. We’ve laughed together, hugged, and even cried together, and I cannot tell you how grateful I am for everyone. Dan and the family are too. If someone is remembered they are never entirely gone, and I’m assured that gives Dan and the family as much comfort as it does me.
Today I return home from Copenhagen. I took two weeks of annual leave to come to these events and I don’t regret that for a second. What makes a truly GREAT conference? It’s the people, always. The tribe. People I feel again are my tribe.
At GOTO Copenhagen there was an embarrassment of riches. I could probably write for hours on the incredible learnings that were shared, and the moments together I’ll never forget. From meeting and loving the perspective of the surprisingly, needlessly and beautifully humble Barbara (Barb) Oakley, experiencing the friendly and astounding intellect of Diana Montalion, the beautiful storytelling of Russ Olsen, the relentless love of the people the build software of Kent Beck… you only have to glance over the brilliant mugshots provided for customising conference t-shirts to see there’s a book of learning from every single face:
These people, including every single attendee these past two weeks—possibly barring yours truly of course—are some of the strongest beating hearts of software engineering today. These people are precious. Their stories are our gold. Where they take us will be worth every penny.
They may not need protecting, but they will be. Because that’s what a tribe does. It’s there for one another, and never before have I felt conferences quite capture that essence like I have these past two weeks.
One final word. Well, two actually. Not even words, a name: Kevlin Henney.
Not only does this key member of the tribe give the most entertaining, thought provoking, technical and narrative, curated and crafted keynotes. Not only is he the most approachable and engaged person in any crowd. He’s also someone I count as a real friend. I’ve not always been lucky in this life, but for Kevlin’s friendship I most certainly am.
As well as our talks, Kevlin and I sat down for a live interview chat in the nicely small-scale surrounds of the “Balcony Room” at GOTO Copenhagen. This was a new format where you both have a chat together with a live audience. I adored this format. It felt it was such a great way to connect with people, and a complement and contrast with the broadcast of the big stage.
Before the interview I spoke with an attendee who shared just how much my talk had meant to them and we shared some tears over that. I want to thank that attendee for sharing that with me. I’ll never forget our conversation. You’re incredible.
That then set the stage for Kevlin and my chat, which I am assured will be out on YouTube at some point in the future. It also set the stage for an opportunity for me to thank my interviewer.
When you get sick, particularly with a life threatening illness, people react in many different ways. None are bad, all are understandable. Some touch base, some call, some distance. It’s hard on everyone, and sometimes harder on those watching the crashing bus than those actually on the bus.
Kevlin didn’t just reach out, he pretty much battered the virtual door down. We’ve spoken frequently throughout my cancer journey and I can honestly say that everything we’ve shared, whether it be the nuances of writing, the struggles with mental health or just the sheer excitement on something to geek out on, has been a key part of keeping me going. Helping me keep on keeping on.
I’ll be forever thankful to and for Kevlin. I may not be much of a believer, but I can spot an angel when I see one. There’s at least one in Bristol and he’s playing his guitar and dreaming of the next way to help people grapple with software engineering.
It’s time to close out this post I think. It’s already eating into your weekend reading time, and I want to leave you fresh and excited to see the videos and other materials from these conferences as they begin to surface over the coming weeks and months.
I’ll just end with this little video. At the closing keynote yesterday the brilliant Michael Nygard shared some of the challenges and rewards of becoming a leader in your organisation. While he was explaining the way a leader can say “There’s nothing to be afraid of except fear itself” while their body language and policy are implying fear on every level I had a scene in my head.
That scene was this one from the “IT Crowd”, and so I’d like to finish this article on this light-hearted note:
“I am declaring WAR on Stress! … Anyone still experiencing stress at the end of the day is FIRED!”
And other recent talks too, plus completing my “How to Speak” book (finally)—I really appreciate everyone’s patience with the latter!