The Code Companions: How My Programming Orbit Shapes Me

It's Monday morning, 9:03 AM to be exact, and I'm at my desk in Portland with my ritual coffee, contemplating something that hit me during my morning standup.

Yesterday's experience with actually (gasp) asking for help on that Discord server got me thinking about how much my evolution as a developer has been shaped by the people around me—or more accurately, by the absence of people around me.

I've always operated like a lone satellite, orbiting the dev community from a safe distance. My GitHub is full of solitary commits. My Stack Overflow account has a 5:1 ratio of reading solutions to actually posting anything. Even at work, I'm the guy with headphones permanently attached, sending "I'll figure it out" messages when offered help.

But here's the thing about orbits—they're still defined by gravitational relationships. Even in my most isolated coding sessions, I'm using libraries someone else built, implementing patterns someone else designed, solving problems someone else documented.

The myth of the solo programming genius is just that—a myth. And maybe I've been clinging to it because it's safer than admitting I need other people to grow.

Looking at the senior devs I admire, none of them evolved in isolation. They have networks, mentors, communities. They ask questions without the existential dread I feel when typing "??" in a work chat.

So I'm making a conscious decision to change my orbit. This morning, I actually volunteered to pair program on a tricky authentication issue at work. Tomorrow, I'm going to an IRL meetup for indie game devs (send help, my small talk is catastrophically bad).

Maybe becoming a better developer isn't just about leveling up my technical skills, but about expanding my relationship constellation.

Now excuse me while I go prepare some conversation starters that don't involve explaining the benefits of TypeScript to strangers. That's probably not great meetup material, right?