Page 19 of The Hard Launch

“Yeah, I’d so much rather adjust it up front than tear it apart later. Is she the type to freak out if I have changes?”

I have to think about this so long that Ella has to check that my video didn’t freeze.

“I honestly don’t know,” I tell her. “She’s simultaneously the most dedicated and infuriating person I’ve ever worked with.”

“Well, she sounds like a real treat,” Ella says, and I immediately feel bad.

“No. Not like that. Lacey’s amazing. She just—maybe it’s me. Whatever I do, I end up pissing her off. It’s not the best dynamic.”

“And people ask me why I left the startup world.”

“Yet you keep coming back.”

I take back the part about failing at everything; I’m making really good progress on the ad network integration. I block off huge portions of my day for deep focus, turning Slack and my phone off, letting Jonnie be the guardian at my doorway with no door. I feel like I’ve gone back to my roots, back to the place I was when I built Lettercat in the first place, only with much nicer headphones.

It’s nice to be reminded of my own competence, even when I get stuck. Real-world problems are a pain to solve, but when I’m writing code, I almost look forward to the hard parts. If it’s a technology problem, I’m certain I’ll find a resolution, and I’ll learn something new while I’m getting there.

On this particular issue, I’ve tried AI and looked online, and I’ve checked in with Dave and a couple other engineers; there’s something incomplete about the solution I’ve landed on. I know I can do better, and I’m looking forward to the challenge of how.

When I get off the Zoom with Ella, I put my shoes on.

“Heading out?” Jonnie asks.

“Just going to walk until I figure this thing out,” I tell her.

“Bring a sweatshirt,” she says, so I do.

I walk along the Embarcadero to the Ferry Building and back, and when I’m almost back to the office I turn around and do it again. I’m closing in on a solution, I can tell; it’s almost like the idea already exists in my brain and all I’m doing is catching up to it. Music cranked, hoodie up, I’m so deep in my own world that I don’t hear the car that nearly hits me as it pulls into one of the parking lots along the pier. The guy in it pauses to shout something I can’t hear, but he also gives me the finger, so I have a pretty good idea what he said.

I decide to stop until the walk signal gives me the okay to go, and that’s when I see Lacey waiting on the side opposite me.

She gives me a small wave. I nod, wondering if she saw me get cursed out and almost flattened.

I don’t know if I’ve been giving her space or taking some of my own this week, but I’ve come to a point where I’ve stopped trying. There’s too much at stake right now for me to spend time on interpersonal drama. Some people just don’t mix, and that’s okay. No one’s coaching oil to get along better with water; they’re both doing fine on their own.

When the light turns, I cruise right past her, back into my own integration mess. I get to the ballpark, and the answer is still eluding me. One more trip, maybe.

I pretend I don’t see Lacey when we pass each other this next time. I keep my head down and watch her go by in my peripheral vision. But then she stays there. She turned around, and she’s now walking next to me. I reach up and touch my headphones to stop the music, but she doesn’t say anything. We walk all the way to the Ferry Building like this.

“Can I buy you a twelve-dollar bottle of water?” she asks me when we arrive.

“Twelve dollars?”

“I’m thirsty, and it’s either that or the water fountain. Ferry Building prices are stupid.”

“I’m okay,” I tell her, but I go with her to the market inside to get her water.

“At least the bottle’s nice,” she says, unscrewing the top of the thick glass bottle. “Do you want a sip?” She holds it out to me, and I can tell she feels just how weird the offer is while she’s making it.

I decline, but I know I’m smiling.

“So what are you stuck on?” she asks once we’re outside. I don’t ask how she knows that I’m stuck.

“The API for the ad network,” I tell her. “Technical and dull, but important.”

“Go ahead and bore me with the details,” she says. “Maybe explaining it will shift your thinking and help you solve it.”

This is a thing that works; some engineers even substitute a rubber duck for a live person when they do it. We walk along the Bay together while I describe the problem. Lacey asks questions that make me see it differently, if not clearly. I’d love to keep going but I can tell she’s getting cold. I’m not going to offer her my sweatshirt, so we head back to Lettercat. We’re still talking it over when we get to my office. I kick my shoes off, she sits on the couch, and we keep at it for another ten minutes, until I think I’ve got it. I’m ready to try, at least.