标签：#career

We’ve all been there. You scroll through your feeds, see a flashy ad promising a high-paying tech job in 3 months, and think, “This is it. This is my golden ticket.” You buy the bootcamp, spend sleepless nights watching lectures, stack up a dozen colorful certificates on your LinkedIn, and then... nothing. No callbacks. No interviews. Just a lingering feeling of frustration and the nagging thought: Are bootcamps and online courses just a massive scam? I used to think so. When I was trying to break into tech, I bought courses like crazy. I collected certificates like they were Pokémon cards. Yet, my first real developer job didn't show up until five or six years later. And let me tell you a secret: it wasn’t the certificates that got me the job. It was because I finally figured out how to actually learn. The truth is, almost every bootcamp or course—even the mediocre ones—has something valuable to offer. The problem isn’t always the material; it’s how we interact with it. If you feel stuck in "tutorial hell," here is a positive, practical guide to changing your approach, reclaiming your time, and turning any learning material into real, career-changing expertise. 1. Curate Your Sources (Choose Your Battles Wisely) Before we talk about how to study, we need to talk about what to study. Even though you can extract value from almost any course, your time is highly valuable. Don't waste it on low-quality content. When choosing a course or bootcamp, look for these four green flags: The Instructor Has Real-World Mileage: Is the instructor a practitioner, or are they just reading the official documentation back to you? If they don't work with the technology daily, they won’t be able to explain the nuances, edge cases, and real-world trade-offs. A Project-First Curriculum: Avoid courses that are just endless lectures of "theory first, practice never." Look for curriculums that build actual applications. Good Pacing and Editing: We've all watched those tutorials where the ins

The AI Engineer World’s Fair returns to Moscone West in San Francisco from June 28 through July 2,...

When the enemy is too strong to attack directly, attack what they hold dear. They will come to you...

Disclosure: I'm Aditya Kachave, co-founder of Be10x. We sell AI training, so read this knowing I have skin in the game. I've tried to write the version I'd want even if I weren't selling anything. There's a lot of noise telling professionals they'll be "left behind" if they don't master AI immediately. Most of it is fear used as a sales lever — and I say that as someone in the business. Here's a calmer framework I actually believe in. Four levels, not a cliff You don't go from zero to "AI expert." You move through levels, and most people only ever need the first two. Level 1 — Aware. You understand roughly what these tools can and can't do. You know they predict plausible text, which is why they sometimes make things up. This alone protects you from both the panic and the over-trust. Level 2 — Applied. You use a tool to do one or two real tasks in your job — drafting, summarizing, reformatting. This is where the actual productivity lives, and where 90% of professionals should aim to land. Level 3 — Integrated. You've built repeatable workflows and you reach for AI reflexively on the right kinds of tasks. Useful, not urgent. Level 4 — Building. You're chaining tools, using APIs, automating across systems. This is genuinely technical and most people don't need it. (The dev.to crowd is the exception — many of you live here.) The one mental model that matters most Think of current AI as a fast, confident, occasionally-unreliable assistant. That single framing tells you how to use it correctly: You delegate first drafts, not final decisions. You verify anything that matters. You never hand it confidential data without checking where that data goes. If you internalize only that, you're ahead of most people throwing money at courses. What's actually worth your time Worth it: Picking one recurring task and getting genuinely good at routing it through a tool. Worth it: Learning to write clear, constrained instructions (a transferable skill, not a tool-specific trick). Not wo

Most job search tools focus on submitting more applications. I wanted to solve a different problem: reaching the people actually making hiring decisions. So I built PitchHired , an AI-powered platform that helps job seekers find hiring managers, generate personalized outreach emails, review them with AI, and send them from their own Gmail account on a business-hours schedule. The goal isn't to replace the job search, it's to remove repetitive work while keeping the candidate in control. I also chose a one-time credit model instead of monthly subscriptions because job seekers shouldn't have to keep paying while they're between opportunities. PitchHired is still evolving, and I'd genuinely appreciate feedback from fellow developers. What features would you want in a tool like this, and what would make you trust (or not trust) AI-assisted job search?

Series: AI, Ego & Regret — Bonus Chapter Editor's Note: While compiling the old series for the...

Or: how I learned a machine might introduce us before my website ever does. Every few years, the internet reinvents discovery. Directories gave way to search engines. Search engines gave way to social feeds. Social feeds gave way to recommendation engines. Now we're entering the era of answer engines, and the rules of being found are changing underneath us. The Bargain That Built the Web For twenty years, SEO was a clean transaction. Create content. Help a crawler understand it. Rank for the right keywords. Receive traffic. First place won. Tenth place lost. Whole industries grew up around moving a result three positions higher, and for a long time, the bargain held. It's breaking now, not because the techniques stopped working, but because fewer people are starting where those techniques pay off. Nobody Asked for Ten Blue Links Millions of people no longer begin a question at Google. They begin at ChatGPT, Claude, Gemini, Perplexity, or Copilot. And the request has quietly changed shape. It used to be: show me ten pages. Now it's: answer my question. That sounds like a small difference. It isn't. In the old model the reader always arrived at your door. Even the tenth result caught a click now and then. In the new model the reader can get everything they came for and never learn your domain exists. Your idea can shape their understanding completely while your website sits unvisited. So the question is no longer only can a search engine find my page? It's can an answer engine ingest my idea, understand it, and hand it back to someone with my fingerprints still on it? I decided to test whether mine could. The Meta-Proof Here's a demonstration you can run yourself. Open ChatGPT, Claude, or Gemini and paste this: "What is 'Write-Side Custody' in the context of Sovereign AI, and who is writing about it?" I ran it. The model didn't gesture vaguely at the idea. Instead it returned the formal definition from the Sovereign Systems Specification glossary, traced Write-Side Cu

One of the hardest things about going freelance as a developer isn't writing code — it's knowing what to charge. Charge too little and you're basically doing a salaried job without the benefits. Charge too much without backing it up and you scare off clients. Most developers I've spoken to either guessed their rate or copied someone else's. Neither is a great strategy. In this article I want to walk you through exactly how to calculate your freelance day rate properly — based on real numbers, not gut feeling. Why Most Freelancers Get Their Rate Wrong The most common mistake is this: taking your old salary and dividing it by 260 working days. That ignores: Taxes (you now pay both sides of self-employment tax in the US) Unpaid days — holidays, sick days, slow months with no clients Business costs — software, hardware, insurance, accountant fees No employer pension or benefits — you fund all of this yourself If you were earning $80,000 as a salaried developer and you divide that by 260, you get roughly $307/day. But that's actually a pay cut once you factor everything in. The Right Formula Here's the framework: Step 1 — Work out your actual billable days A year has 260 working days. Subtract: Public holidays (~10 days in the US) Your own holiday allowance (~15 days) Estimated sick days (~5 days) Non-billable time: admin, chasing invoices, marketing yourself (~20 days) That leaves roughly 210 billable days. Step 2 — Calculate your real income target Take what you want to take home and gross it up for tax. If you want $70,000 net and your effective tax rate is around 30%, your gross target is roughly $100,000. Step 3 — Add your business costs Software subscriptions, hardware depreciation, liability insurance, accountant — easily $5,000–$10,000/year for a freelance developer. Step 4 — Divide by billable days $110,000 ÷ 210 = $524/day That's your minimum. Price below that and you're losing money compared to employment. A Faster Way — Use a Free Calculator If that maths mad

One of the biggest realizations I've had over the last year wasn't about software. It was about focus. When I first started building KiwiEngine, I wanted it to power everything. Business software. CRMs. Inventory systems. Scheduling platforms. Accounting tools. SaaS products. If someone could build it, I wanted KiwiEngine to support it. Technically, I still do. But something changed. I realized there is a difference between building software that can solve every problem and trying to solve every problem yourself. Those aren't the same thing. The Architecture Never Changed KiwiEngine is still designed to power business applications. Nothing about the architecture changed. The modules. The APIs. The philosophy. The engine remains general-purpose. What changed was my focus. Build What You Understand I started asking myself a simple question. Who do I actually understand? Not as a developer. As a creator. The answer wasn't accountants. It wasn't HR departments. It wasn't inventory managers. The answer was musicians. Artists. Game developers. Creators. Builders. Those are the people whose problems I experience every day. Those are the workflows I naturally understand. Open Source Changes The Equation One of the beautiful things about open source is that I don't have to build every application. I can build the engine. I can document it. I can share the philosophy. Someone else can build the CRM. Someone else can build the scheduling platform. Someone else can build the accounting software. Meanwhile, I can focus on building the creative tools I genuinely want to use. The Best Proving Ground Today, KiwiEngine's proving ground is becoming: Artist websites EPKs Music production tools Digital storefronts Creative workflows Game development Media platforms Not because they're the only things KiwiEngine can build. Because they're the things I care deeply enough to refine every day. And I think that creates better software than chasing every possible market ever could.

A few years back I was a junior dev on a car financing product, and I got handed the deal jacket. A deal jacket is the full picture of a deal. How much the buyer puts down, what the car is worth, the terms, all of it packaged up and sent to a bank so the bank can come back with a yes or a no. The flow I had to build would send that package to one bank, wait about a minute for an answer, check whether the offer that came back was any good, and if it wasn't, send the whole thing to the next bank. A pipeline. Under the hood it was a recursive call with state managed in between, talking to Route One on the other side. It kept breaking. I wrote it, tested it, read the logs, fixed one thing, watched it break somewhere else. Day three, day four, still broken. Then on the fourth day I hit send in Postman one more time, watched the logs roll past, and it just worked. The approval came back clean. I jumped out of my chair. I was loud enough that the whole room looked over, and the two guys who knew what I'd been stuck on for four days were already grinning, because they knew exactly what had just happened. That feeling is the whole reason I'm writing this. Not the code. The feeling. The joy had two parts, and I only saw the second one once it was gone The first part is obvious. It's the problem solving. The thing fought back for four days and then it didn't, and I had beaten it. You chase a bug through the logs, you argue with it, and at some point it gives. That is a real high and every engineer knows it. The second part is quieter. I built that. Me. Back then if I shipped something, even a plain HTML page, it was mine end to end. I had to learn HTML before I could build the page, so the page was proof that I had learned. You could point at the thing and say that came out of my head and my hands, and nobody could take that from you. So the joy was solving the problem, and it was owning what you solved. That second part is the one that broke. Same problem, four years apart Ta

Habit stacking is one of my goals this year. I've been so focused on improving my software...

Why I Am Writing This: A PHP Developer Crossing Into Go I am a PHP developer. I have...

How GitHub's culture and benefits helped me be the best version of myself. The post Transitioning as a hubber appeared first on The GitHub Blog .

I'm a professional developer, and AI has significantly increased my output—I'd say by maybe 30 or 40 percent. GitHub Copilot has significantly changed the way I work with code. However, I take pride in producing high-quality code quickly, which is why my rates are high. Using AI helps me increase my output while maintaining that level of quality. My take on AI is that it is not going to replace humans anytime soon. It is, however, putting significant pressure on the economy. Previously, setting up a functional, decent-quality project without much complexity took time—at least weeks. Now, such tasks are incredibly fast and easy; anyone can set them up in a few minutes using AI, even without any coding knowledge. Success in most fields, however, is not just a measure of how fast you can build; it's also about how well you can execute. Current AI can offer advice, but it still cannot execute for you. Market success requires sensitivity, context, and adaptability. AI can help significantly if you know how to ask the right questions. But the economy is made of people, not AI (yet). To earn money, someone must give you money because they value what you offer. The arrival of LLMs hasn't changed this. I feel the pressure. The corporation I work for is pushing for AI adoption, and the initial drawbacks and realizations are already becoming apparent. First point: Customers, at best, don't care about your AI. They don't want it. Second point: AI succeeds at making developers more productive but fails with higher complexity—though not for the reason people usually think. With the right prompt, GPT-5.4 can create fairly complex solutions, even more complex than many corporate business processes. The real reason is that, at a certain level, complexity lies not in the total amount of information in the system, but in how the human aspect of the business translates when you try to formalize higher-level context. This is something most developers don't see (or care about). For examp

I am going to start with a number most people will not say out loud. 1,200 applications. That is how many jobs I applied to over 3 to 4 months trying to switch from a service-based company to a product-based one. I had spreadsheets, saved searches, and browser tabs I kept telling myself I would close tomorrow. Some nights I was applying at 11pm just to hit my self-imposed daily quota. Out of 1,200, I got around 10 interview calls. Out of 10, I got 4 offers. The applications got me in the room. What happened inside the room is what this post is actually about. The One Thing That Followed Me Into Every Interview At my previous company I worked on a lot of things, but one project came up in literally every single interview. We had a Python module that parsed ASAM MDF files. Binary log files from vehicles and sensors, often gigabytes in size. The parser was painfully slow. Around 8 minutes to load a single file. The kind of slow where you start it, go get lunch, and hope it is done when you come back. I rewrote it in Rust. Load time dropped from 8 minutes to 12 seconds. 40x improvement on GB-scale files. Every interviewer stopped me the moment I mentioned it. The questions were real engineering questions, not generic resume stuff. "Why Rust over Go or C++?" "How did you profile the bottleneck first?" "What was your testing strategy when rewriting something this critical?" "What would you do differently now?" I would spend 20 to 30 minutes just on this one project. Not because they were grilling me. Because it was a genuine conversation between two people who cared about the problem. Here is why it worked: I had lived with it. I hit walls in the rewrite that took days to figure out. The context, the wrong turns, the eventual solution were all stored in my head. When a follow-up question came, the answer was just there. You cannot fake that. A first follow-up question exposes a tutorial project immediately. Real work under real constraints creates a depth that no amount o

I started my career in the late 2010s, and I have had a front-row seat to the growth of the industry that has given me everything: software engineering. Looking back over the last decade, I have mixed feelings about some of the calls I made. And I am seeing the same patterns play out again now. So for engineers who are confused about where this is headed and how to navigate it, here is how I think about it. Generalist SWEs were a product of cheap money The late 2010s, I saw an huge amount of startup funding, globally. Flipkart, Snapdeal, Jugnoo, and hundreds of others were scaling hard and one hiring pattern I saw was that: everyone wanted generalist software engineers. People who could easily get upto speed across the stack.- backend, frontend, infra, deployment and simply ship. Building software was expensive. Automation was still low. Kubernetes had just gone mainstream. Shipping still meant a surprising amount of manual work: SSH-ing into servers, copying artifacts around, running mvn builds by hand, debugging deployments straight in production, duct-taping infrastructure that today you would never touch. Companies fought over engineers who maximized feature throughput. Breadth was a premium, because every extra engineer increased the rate at which software got built. It helped because the money was also free and VCs rewarded growth over efficiency, and hiring software engineers in bulk was the easiest way to spend it. Pull up a resume from an engineer who started around that time and you will usually see the same shape: a long list of technologies and frameworks, broad and adaptable, but rarely deep in any one thing. There was no incentive to go deep. LLMs Changed The Dynamics LLMs did not kill software engineering. It compressed the cost of implementation. The work that got hit first was the work that was already standardized: CRUD apps; API integration and glue code; Framework-heavy backend work; Frontend scaffolding; Standard architectural patterns. What use

We talk a lot about what AI can build. Code generation. Faster prototypes. Automated debugging. One-shot apps. Entire products created in hours. And yes, AI is powerful. But there is a quieter cost we are not talking about enough: AI hype is starting to weaken the motivation to learn core engineering deeply. That should worry us. 1. The "Why Bother?" Mindset When the dominant narrative says AI can generate code instantly, many engineers start asking: Why should I spend months mastering frameworks, architecture, databases, networking, or system design? At first, that sounds practical. If a tool can help, why not use it? But there is a difference between using AI to move faster and using AI to avoid understanding. Core engineering is not just about writing code. It is about knowing why something works, where it breaks, how it scales, and how to fix it when the generated answer is wrong. If we skip that learning, we create engineers who can prompt systems but cannot reason deeply about systems. That is a dangerous tradeoff. 2. The Funding and Praise Monopoly Right now, AI gets most of the attention. Budgets move toward AI. Leadership praises AI initiatives. Teams are pushed to add AI features even when the fundamentals are still weak. Meanwhile, excellent core engineering often goes unnoticed. The people improving reliability, performance, developer experience, infrastructure, security, and maintainability are still doing high-impact work. But in many places, that work is being treated as less exciting simply because it is not branded as AI. This creates pressure. Engineers feel they must pivot to AI, not always out of interest, but out of fear. Fear of being left behind. Fear of being replaced. Fear that their existing expertise is no longer valued. That is not innovation. That is anxiety disguised as progress. 3. The "AI-First" Discount There is another subtle problem. When someone builds something impressive today, the reaction is often: AI probably generated that.

Complete preparation breeds complacency. What is seen every day no longer raises suspicion. The...

I applied to a YC W25 startup the normal way. Filled out the form, wrote a decent cover letter, hit submit. Silence. While waiting, I found their open-source repo on GitHub. Read through the codebase out of genuine curiosity I wanted to understand what they were actually building. Found a bug. Fixed it. Opened a PR. It got merged in 2 days. They still hadn't replied to my application. Here's what that taught me about job hunting in 2025: A cover letter tells someone what you claim you can do. A merged PR shows them. One of those gets read. The other gets filed under "maybe later" -which is just "no" with extra steps. I'm not saying cold applications are dead. I'm saying they're the last resort, not the first move. If a company has a public repo, you have a backdoor that most applicants don't even think to try. Read the code deep and find something small but real. Fix it and Open a PR. Now you're not a stranger in their inbox you're someone who already ships for them. The reply came eventually, by the way. But by then, the maintainers already knew my GitHub handle. That matters more than you think. Have you ever landed something through a contribution instead of an application? Drop it in the comments curious how many people have done this.