Moving to another city for work certainly accelerated things, but it didn’t take long before I contracted the now what syndrome myself. Graduated from university? Check. Got a job? Check. Now what? I have no goals. I have ambition, drive, and energy — but I don’t feel like I have any outlet for it.

I lost track of my passion. It’s not something I found even while performing a job that I found extremely interesting. It kept my brain stimulated, but not my heart. I had moved away from my friends and my social life came to a grinding halt. I couldn’t find people my age through work, and the city didn’t provide anywhere near the level of cultural entertainment that my hometown did. I had no friends, except when I went home on the weekends, and my weeks were spent in social misery. All that for a job that didn’t love. I enjoyed it, but I felt like I was missing out on the parts of life that made me truly happy: the time I would spend with friends. And so I moved back.

Naturally, being back home didn’t solve all my problems — but I didn’t expect it to. My motivation was to buy myself some more time to find out what it is I really want to do. In the meantime, I have my friends close by, and a day job that keeps me on track with paying back my student loans.

But I still spend most of my time thinking about it: What should I do with my life?

Ever since I was a child I had assumed that computers and programming were my calling. My mother’s reminded me that when I was 2 or 3 years old I received a plastic computer toy as a birthday present which, after opening, caused me to ignore all the other birhtday presents. I was too weak to actually press the buttons so I would grab my father’s finger and point it to the keys I wanted to get pushed. The toy was actually really silly, but my life has been tied to computers ever since. It was one of these Tomy Tutor Play Computers, which I can’t believe I was able to find a picture of.

I love programming. I enjoy doing it. I love solving problems and the feeling I get when I accomplish something. The inherent frustration of trial-and-error and incremental improvements is easily bearable because of my adoration for the craft. I’ve had people tell me that they were jealous of the fact that I’ve known what I wanted to do for essentially my whole life. Maybe I give off that impression when I talk about programming, but it’s not an end — it’s a means to an end. It’s a skill that I love using but one can’t simply program for the sake of programming. It’s a skill that needs to be applied, and I’m still hunting for that application.

Only recently have I begun to realize that my original goals — graduating and finding a job — were oversimplified. I did so much more in my experiences at university that weren’t directly related to either graduating or finding a job. Some things — such as involvement in many student associations — may have even been detrimental to those goals since they took my focus away from schoolwork. Not that I ever cared much for schoolwork. My goals not only weren’t as simple as I thought they were, they were hardly what was driving me.

The aspects of being a student that I loved had precious little to do with class, graduating, or future employment. Maybe those weren’t actually my goals in the first place. I just thought they were. I found fulfillment in all the activities I did that were only tangentially related to my duties as a student. I kept myself immensely busy by attending nearly every conference, participating in nearly every competition, and helping to organize these events for others. I was constantly meeting new people, making new friends, discovering new tools and concepts and learning at a pace that was exponentially quicker than what I would’ve been exposed to in class. I took advantage of being a student to do all the things that a student studying software engineering could possibly do. No wonder I felt empty once I gave up the student identity that had served me so well.

Maybe it’s not the programming that I love after all, but all the things that it has enabled me to do. When I shed my student identity and all the conferences, competitions and activities it opened up to me, programming became … well, it became dull.

The lesson I’ve learned through all of this should’ve been obvious, since it was a major point of Jeff Atwood’s CUSEC 2008 Keynote, and a famous anecdote from Into The Wild: Happiness only real when shared. Programming makes me happy, but only insomuch as I’m able to share it with others.