Preface
Code School Book — Morgan Lopes and Tim Whitacre (1/30)
📖 Table of Contents | 📘 Buy the Book | Next Chapter 👉
I (Morgan) was a high school senior embarking on spring break. Instead of parties at the beach, I opted for a trek into the Appalachian Mountains with two friends. Known by locals as the AT, the Appalachian Trail is a 2,200-mile path stretching from Springer Mountain in Georgia to Mount Katahdin in Maine. Our goal was to spend a week in the woods, hiking 15 miles per day, sleeping on the ground, and carrying everything we needed in 50-pound packs. This was far from the average American Spring Break.
For nearly 100 years, the AT has been a well-worn retreat for locals and visitors from around the world. Regularly maintained paths, sturdy shelters, and pristine markings highlight the way for travelers of all ages. Families enjoy segments of the trail for afternoon walks. Adventurers spend months hiking from end to end. Both weekend warriors and weathered wanderers find the trail approachable. Approachable enough, in fact, for three high schoolers to convince their cautious parents to let them venture into the wilderness. We experienced the allure firsthand as the trail greeted us warmly.
As we hiked, the experience made an impression. Even as a teenager, I noticed the thoughtful maintenance of the trail. Massive segments are kept up by volunteers. Guardians regularly groom brush, remove debris, and trim overgrowth each season. From time to time, we came across strangers handing out water and supplies on the roadside. Hiking companies arranged pickups and dropoffs at outposts to keep hikers equipped and fueled. There was even a comradery and connection among disparate travelers on the journey.
Everything was marked. White blazes indicated the path. Black diamonds were painted on trees, indicating shelter every dozen miles. Blue squares marked freshwater sources, whether immediately obvious or miles off the path. There were placards for historical landmarks and signage positioned at key points along the way. I later came to recognize this as wayfinding.
Wayfinding helps travelers navigate complex environments. It’s the byproduct of thoughtful investments from former explorers, historians, and guides. The assistance enhances the understanding and experience for novices and newcomers, making their surroundings more approachable. The greater the complexity, the more valuable the wayfinding. From generation to generation, wayfinding equips each new participant to benefit from the collective knowledge of those who came before them.
In preparation for our trip, my friends and I read books, bought maps, and sought expertise. The resources, specifically for the Appalachian Trail alone, seemed endless to us at the time. In sharing our journey with others, we realized friends and family we’d known for years had their own stories to share about the trail. In the days before our trip, one book came up over and over again: A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson. In it, Bryson described his own experience of hiking the AT. His ability to share both the joys and pitfalls he found along the trail have encouraged many aspiring hikers throughout the years. A Walk in the Woods was, and still is, the de facto resource for people hiking the Appalachian Trail.
No such book exists for individuals transitioning into technology. For those choosing code school, the support is particularly bare. The need for better wayfinding along this unique path brought me here to write one. I’ve written hundreds of software applications. I’ve mentored dozens of technology professionals. I’ve coached and led alongside teams of all sizes. Themes emerged throughout, with the most prominent being this: New professionals arrive eager and ambitious, only to find the infrastructure lacking. Time and energy are wasted as people wander around, hoping for a clear path forward. Unfortunately, many burn out before they find their way. Technology has neglected wayfinding for early-stage professionals to get oriented. The trails are not clearly marked and pitfalls remain hidden.
In many ways, entering the tech industry is akin to being dropped in a densely wooded forest. Imagine a thick canopy obscuring the sunlight. Brush and grass stretch above your knees. Your shoes immediately sink in the mud. There is no one around nor a discernable path. It is disorienting, discouraging, and debilitating. Without help in sight, at best you may fumble your way along, at worst you may begin to panic.
If the next step feels unclear, that’s because it hasn’t been marked. Fortunately, you are not as lost as it might appear. Millions before you have felt the same fear and uncertainty. You are not alone. For years, I have been walking the journey with friends, mentors, and peers, many of whom contributed to this book. Tim Whitacre joined me in writing it, and as you read you will be hearing experiences and insights from our own journeys. Both of us managed to find our way through the industry without a computer science degree. Joined by friends and colleagues, we are passionate about helping others discover their right next step.
When I think back to my spring break on the AT, I recall the serendipity that often befell us. At times, it was almost eerie. They called it “trail magic” when out of nowhere a sporadic, delightful event would lift your spirits. One such moment occurred during the first night of our trip. Fellow campers invited us to enjoy fresh brisket chili around their campfire. The next afternoon, following the day’s most exhausting terrain, we found an entire package of sugar-coated, peach-flavored gummies sprawled across the trail. Hours later, we discovered a beautiful spread of refreshments at a random road crossing. Even at our lowest moments, which were many, inspiration was never too far behind.
As you read Code School, I hope you find direction and come across a bit of trail magic of your own. We have marked out important portions of the path. Like a map in your backpack, let this book serve as your Wayfinder.
Welcome to the trailhead.
