September 2009 Archives

Adam Gonnerman wrote an insightful post about how showing the average user the Linux command line (or the DOS command shell on a Windows box, for that matter) can create a sense of fear and intimidation.  It's an interesting piece and I highly recommend reading it as well as the conversation in comments.

As I look at my own comments in that discussion, I'm reminded of how much my thinking about computers has changed over the years.  When I was in college, I was a total command line snob.  I looked down at GUI's in general and thought they were the road to making every computer user stupid.

I think this was a common mentality for a lot of us who were into computers back when I was in college and before.  After all, when I first started college in the Fall of 1992, Windows was still something you started from the DOS command line after you booted the machine.  And the computers in the college's computer labs were set up under Novell.  You'd enter your login credentials, get dumped to the DOS prompt, and type "win" if you wanted to start that stupid GUI.

Even Linux distributions tended to treat XWindows as an afterthought at the time.  That same freshman year, I loaded Slackware Linux onto my IBM XT clone (I will admit that I was nowhere near the cutting edge in terms of the computer I personally owned).  It involved downloading a couple dozen images and burning them onto 3.5" floppies and then using a special boot disk to install the system on the computer.  XFree86 was an optional install and the distribution was -- again -- set up to have you log into a command prompt and then start XWindows from there.  And since trying to get XWindows to work on your particular configuration was no easy task back then, it struck me as mostly a waste of time.

So I came through a time when using a computer meant you had to be a wizard with a command prompt.  It wasn't optional.  You learned all the magic commands and you lerned how to use them extremely well or you were hopelessly lost.  It was a glorious time, especially for those of us who loved the challenge.  So to me at the time, the growing popularity of GUI's (by my senior year, all the computers in the lab were running NT 3.5) and the ease of access they offered was destroying the challenge.  It was making computers something useful for anyone rather than the playground of the geeky elite.  And I was just enough of a snob (and had just enough of my self-worth invested in my geekiness) that this upset me.

So what changed?  To be honest, I changed.  I quit keeping up to date on computers.  I became the average computer user myself, and I found that I liked being an average computer user.  So I let go of my elitism.

I suppose a few readers may be surprised to hear me refer to myself as an average computer user.  After all, how can a software engineer -- someone who is well versed in programming computers -- be merely an average computer user?  Well, the answer to that is that I'm an embedded software engineer.  And that's a rather different kind of computer programming.

I'm currently developing the software for a very unusual device.  It's a computer, but you won't see it sitting on anyone's desk.  It has no keyboard, mouse or monitor.  In fact, if you look at it, all you see is a big metal box with a bunch of cables coming out of it.

Inside, there is a bunch of analog-to-digital converters and I/O expanders that allow the processor to read or assert logic levels on various signals on the circuit boards inside that box.  My job is to develop the software that accesses those ADC's and those I/O expanders with all the signals, do stuff with the data read, and assert certain signals based on that data.  I spent most of this afternoon making sure I could communicate with the ADC's and I/O expanders.  Tomorrow, I'll spend a significant amount of my time making sure that the readings I'm getting from the ADC's are valid and mean what I think they mean.  I'll also spend time making sure that I can read and control the logic signals from the I/O expanders as I expected.

This is a typical programming project for me.  I spend most of my time looking over data sheets for devices like ADC's, I/O expanders, microprocessors/microcontrollers, EEPROM's, and power management chips.  I also read schematics and hardware design specifications that explain how these devices are configured and are supposed to work on the system I'm currently working with.  I've learned to write assembly code for PowerPC's, ARM processors, Blackfin processors, and a few others I've probably forgotten about.

Quite frankly, after I've spent all that time learning about the stuff I need to know to work with the devices I program, I don't want to learn about the computer sitting on my desk anymore.  I just want it to work and work relatively well.  I'll let someone else worry about making sure all my programs work correctly and that my computer is secure and safe from viruses.  After all, the computer on my desktop is just a tool to me now, and tools are good if they're easy to use.  It gives me more time to focus on all that embedded stuff that's part of my job.

So I quit being a command line snob.

Well, I thought it was rather humorous.  Thanks to Shivian for pointing it out via Twitter.

Earlier in the year, I helped to form a fledgeling coven with three other people.  Currently, our coven still consists of the four of us, as we've decided to work out more details of the nature and purpose of our coven before we start taking in other members.  But we've been meeting for study, discussion, and ritual on a regular basis since June.  It's been a rewarding experience.

Last night, I had the privilege of leading the others in a short meditation.  I wrote out the basic meditation I developed and used in my last post.  It went well, and the others found the experience moving and refreshing.  We sat around and everyone shared a bit about what they experienced and what insights they gained from the meditation.  I always love that part of a group meditation exercise.

Towards the end of the discussion, Jenna asked me if I went on the meditation when I led it or if I was too busy being the "tour guide."  I indicated that I didn't go on the meditation, as I was too busy concentrating on what I was doing leading the group through the exercise.  However, her question did give me a chance and pause to consider what does happen to me when I lead a meditation.  While I didn't find myself walking along or standing in the river, I wasn't merely sitting there in a normal state of conscience.

It occurs to me that when I lead a guided meditation like that, I tend to enter into a meditative state of a slightly different sort.  I find myself focused on leading the others.  I find myself focused on the words I'm speaking, choosing them carefully.  (While I usually have a strong sense of where the meditation is going and what I'm going to say, I don't have a script.)  I find myself feeling out the volume and tone of my voice, the cadence of my words.  I find myself intuitively gauging the rhythm of the overall meditation and the atmosphere of the room.

One of the things I'm always amazed about by this process is that the meditation itself seems to enforce it's own pauses.  I often find myself about to speak after a pause, to guide the meditation along, only to have find myself not yet able to speak.  It's as if there's a gentle force keeping me silent, letting me know that it's not quite time yet.  Then I get the sense that it's safe to speak again, that the moment has passed and it's safe to move on.

I know there are those who are quite adept at leading meditations and can actually make the same journey they are guiding others through at the same time.  At this point, I'm not there.  Maybe some day I'll operate like that.  But for now, I find myself going to a different place, a place where the process of leading becomes my own meditation.

Close your eyes.  Take several deep breaths, allowing the tension to flow out of your body.  Feel every muscle in your body relax.  Take a moment to make sure you are comfortable.  Reposition yourself if you must.  Breathe.  Allow your focus to draw inward.

See yourself walking through a meadow.  The sky is a clear, beautiful blue.  The sun shines brightly in the sky, and a gentle breeze adds just a hint of comforting coolness to an otherwise warm day.

As you walk along, allow yourself to notice a soft, constant noise in the distance.  As you continue to walk, it slowly becomes louder.  It is the sound of a swiftly moving and turbulent river, the sound of water cascading and crashing against rocks.  Walk towards the source of the sound.  As you get closer, the rushing river comes into view.  You can see the white spray of the water as it crashes against the rocks sticking up from the riverbed.  The foam and eddies of the rapids make a beautiful sight to behold.

Allow yourself to stand beside the river and take in this site.  Notice how the water crashes against the solid rocks, but cannot move them.  It crashes down, and then parts to rush around the obstqacles, leaving a trail of foam and undercurrents as it rushes by.  The water can shape and wear at the earth in its way, but it cannot move it.

Consider the events and aspects of your life that are like this.  Consider those things that crash against you, but cannot move you.  Consider the forces in your life that can shape you and wear at you, but cannot bring you down.  Consider how they must eventually flow around and past you.

After a while, walk alongside the river, headed downstream.  Continue to watch the river and ponder.  Eventually, you get beyond the rapids.  You find yourself walking alongside a much calmer river.  Notice that the water still flows swiftly with a mighty current, but notice that it does so calmly and smoothly.

As you walk, you eventually come to a small path that leads down the riverbank.  You follow it and step into the flowing water.  Wade out into the center of the river.  The current is strong, but your footing is sure.  The water pushes against you, but you remain safely rooted on the firm riverbed.  As you wade into the middle, the water comes up to your waist.  Stand there in the current, allowing it to push against you as the water tries to flow past you.  It exerts a force against you just before it slips around you and flows past you toward the sea.

Consider again those forces and situations in your life that is like the water of this river.  Consider how they press against you, but cannot move you.  Consider how you are immovable, rooted to your foundation.

Feel the riverbed beneath your feet.  Consider its texture and composition.  Consider how it compares to the foundation of your life.  Consider those things that support you through life, that keep you rooted firmly as the waters of life push at you.

After a bit, wade back to the riverbank and climb back up.  Turn one last time to look at and consider the river.  Take a moment to thank the river for this experience and the lessons it offers.  Then turn and walk again towards the center of the meadow.  As you leave the river behind, notice how the sound of the flowing water begins to fade into the distance.  Notice how the sun dries the drops of water that cling to your body.

When you are ready, allow yourself to become increasingly aware of your body and your surroundings.  Feel your toes and fingers.  Wiggle them.   As you come back to conscious awareness and the present moment, open your eyes.