Branches

Six years ago, I attended my first SXSW. My trip was financed by my employer, Zefer, whose descent into the dot-com quicksand was still a few months away. I can’t remember how I had heard of SXSW, but I remember just knowing it was the place to be for a budding young web developer. I also can’t remember much about that year’s conference—I didn’t know anyone there, and was way too shy to meet people on my own. So I stuck to the back of the room, learned what I could from sessions, and saw a few exciting movies I never heard about again (save one). Whatever energy I took back with me to the day job was quickly sucked away by the routine of work, and I was in no position to affect it.

It took four years to get back to Austin. This time I was at the University of Chicago. Our professional development budget was modest, so I had to forgo most other conference opportunities to get myself down there. I was happy to do so. This time was different: I was older, wiser, more socially graceful (I had nowhere to go but up), and I had a job that I felt I could affect with all the knowledge I’d bring back. The result was five days of sublimity. I made a host of new friends, most of whom I remain very close to two years later. I learned a lot. But the main effect was a buzz of energy that I was working in an exciting time, with the potential to do exciting things, if I just put my mind to it.

The reality, of which I was reminded before my coffee was cold on the first day back, was that I was employed by a university, whose adaptability to change could make Archie Bunker look progressive. The buzz soon wore off, but not enough to keep me from signing up to go back the next year.

As a result, SXSW 06 wasn’t as much of a rush. The shine had worn off, and while the machine underneath was still a sexy motherfucker, it wasn’t as sexy as the first time I glimpsed her. Many panels felt rote, like they were just recycling the same material. Yet, in the same way I would head back to summer camp between high school years and slip right into the same alternate-life friendships, it was great to meet up with my old South-by buddies. This is truly the real value of the conference: the energy of four days and nights spend with people who are just like you, whose interests line up exactly with yours, and who send you home with the passion to break out of the rut and go do something cool.

And yet, again, the buzz died off quickly. The job just wasn’t offering me the room to grow that SXSW prooved I needed. I had harbored some fantasies about building something cool in my off-time, but that just wasn’t going to happen while at the U of C. Work drained all my daily energy.

So I quit.

I realized that I either had to stop getting my hopes up every March, or I had to stop letting them get quashed every April. I chose the latter, and decided it was time to get moving on my own terms.

Fast forward to a couple weeks ago, and SXSW 07. I’m finally back in Austin, for the first time on my own dime, and ready to suck up the excitement without anything getting in the way. I was stunned to find myself facing a sobering reality check. It’s not to say the energy wasn’t there—it was, in spades. I saw all my old chums, and met scads more, many of whom work at companies or publish websites that I admire. The energy was there for the taking. My feeling was that I had nothing to offer in exchange.

I started working on my own in October. By any measure of success, my first five months have been a solid showing. Things look promising. I like my clients, and I’m excited about the work. But it’s nothing world-changing. It’s not even neighborhood-changing. In Austin, when asked about what I do, I couldn’t offer anything more than simply “you know, websites.” I learned of the work my contemporaries were doing, and the awe I felt was tinged with the embarrassment that I was standing there empty-handed. This may have been the same case in years previous, but this time I had no one to blame but myself.

The final day of SXSW, I made a pact with myself. In the 360 days until the next conference, I’d produce something. It had to be…

• Something I wanted to do because I thought it was cool, not because a client asked me to do it.


• Something I’d feel proud to show off at SXSW 08.

That’s it, two criteria. If I could fulfill those those two things, it’d go a long way to making SXSW —or really, my career as an independent developer—much more worthwhile.

My favorite panel at SXSW this year was a talk by Jim Coudal and Brendan Dawes. The topic was ostensibly about Making Your Short Attention Span Pay Big Dividends, or so it was titled. More accurately, it was a testimonial to the value of following your passion. This tenet is actually built into the job at Coudal Partners. They brainstorm crazy ideas and run with them, just because they can. Sometimes they work out and turn into products (see Jewelboxing, Lowercase Tee), and sometimes they crash and burn—but even those experiences are chock full of value. I found myself thinking, “Man, I wished I worked somewhere like that.”

Oh wait, I do. Or I could, if I wanted to. This is why I left my job, why I go to SXSW, why I formed my own business—because I want to grow and learn and exhaust my own potential as a designer, as a developer, as a builder of things. SXSW ended five days ago; I have 355 days to make it happen.