Data Sandcastles and the Meaning of Existence
All Data work is ephemeral. Life is too. With that in mind, who do you want to be?
There was a particular time in my career when a colleague and I would consistently be stymied by what we felt were systemic obstacles. These were obstacles that were seemingly insurmountable due to our lack of power to affect change as well as our inability to see/understand/influence bigger picture variables that were at play. As hard as we tried, we were unable to make our organization more data-driven (whatever that meant to us at the time).
This frustration-inducing dynamic led to innumerable conversations between us and joking references to something we decided to call data nihilism. That is, as hard as we tried and as much as others pledged to go along with us, it didn’t matter…the pipelines still broke, we still couldn’t get enough headcount to support everyone, we still used (and built) solutions that wouldn’t scale, we still had to say ‘Yes’ to any and all Data requests, and so on. As much as we tried, it didn’t seem to matter. Nothing we did relative to Data really mattered. Hence…data nihilism.
I am no longer that person. I am obviously older. I am much more optimistic, in general. I am still cynical, but not THAT cynical. And more importantly, I am also much smarter about recognizing the value of my work, and the inherent half-life value therein.
…which brings me to the concept of Data Sandcastles
I didn’t necessarily intend to restart my writing habit with this post about every Data leader’s list of seemingly unsolvable problems. (By the way, I’m not just a complainer. I’ll start sharing actual solutions to those problems in the coming days/weeks.) Instead, I meant to write this post first. Regardless, here we are.
I don’t necessarily recall where the thought came from originally. But since it first appeared in my mind as a theme for my work & my life, the notion and symbolism of sandcastles has been increasingly meaningful to me.
Nietzsche happened to use sandcastles as a metaphor for identifying the varying approaches to life — specifically as one is confronted by the fleeting nature of experience, happiness, and fulfillment, juxtaposed with the ever-present inevitability of loss and (to be a bit morbid) destruction. I won’t repeat what’s already been wonderfully articulated in this short piece in The New Yorker. However, I will extend the scope of metaphorical meaning to be inclusive of the field of Data in the modern workplace.
Here’s a quick self assessment for you. If you have a Data & Analytics career, interest, and/or hobby, which one of these personas looks most like you?
- Do you build your pipelines, your models, your dashboards, your strategies trying to account for all possible pitfalls? Do you get your peers and colleagues to test and proofread your work with an exceedingly fine toothed comb before it gets shipped? Do you deploy your work right alongside release notes that provide super granular detail on all the things you can’t be 100% certain about? Do you do all those things, and when your work inevitably hits a snag or obstacle, do you still get upset and beat yourself up over what you could’ve done?
- Do you tend to avoid any work or version of a project that has a non-trivial chance of falling down? Do you shy away from risky options and experimentation because of how it might possibly reflect on (and soil) your reputation as a highly-skilled and accomplished professional?
- Or do you embrace the inherent ephemeral nature of all Data work, recognizing that all valuable work is only valuable for a limited time? And do you recognize that that fact has a liberating effect on you, which serves to drive better and more innovative thinking? And are you able to use that freeing sensation to propel you, remaining fully aware that acting/working in this manner makes you feel happiest and most fulfilled?
Who am I you might ask?
Well, I suppose I’d say that I’m most reflexively like that #1 guy.
I’d rather be #3. I’m working on it. That’s what this blog is about.
post written by Bill Saltmarsh
