标签：#car

Existe um desconforto generalizado na área de desenvolvimento. Uma sensação de que o chão mudou, mas ninguém deu o mapa novo. A IA generativa entrou no dia a dia, e de repente aquilo que antes levava horas: escrever funções, montar queries, criar componentes, resolver bugs triviais. Agora passou a levar minutos. Às vezes, segundos. A reação mais comum é: ou "a IA vai substituir todo mundo", ou "não muda nada, é só mais uma ferramenta". As duas posições estão erradas. A primeira é alarmismo. A segunda é negação. O que aconteceu foi uma mudança de papel . O desenvolvedor não deixou de ser necessário. O tipo de contribuição que se espera de um desenvolvedor mudou. E entender essa mudança cedo, especialmente para quem está no início da carreira, é a diferença entre se tornar um profissional de pouco impacto e um profissional indispensável. O modelo que conhecíamos Durante muito tempo, a indústria funcionou com uma divisão razoavelmente clara de responsabilidades: O ciclo tradicional de uma demanda: Alguém identifica um problema → alguém de produto investiga e define o escopo → um arquiteto ou pleno projeta a solução → um desenvolvedor implementa. Cada etapa tinha suas pessoas, suas cerimônias, seus rituais. Refinamento, sprint planning, design review, code review. Não que isso fosse ruim, só era uma estrutura que fazia sentido quando cada etapa era custosa. Dentro desse modelo, a progressão de carreira era mais ou menos assim: Junior recebia tarefas pequenas e bem definidas. Codificava, testava, corrigia. A maior parte do tempo era gasto na execução: a parte braçal . Pleno pegava demandas mais complexas, começava a pensar em como o código se encaixa no sistema. Refatorava, participava de decisões técnicas . Senior definia arquitetura, avaliava trade-offs, mentorava. Codava menos, pensava mais . A IA comprimiu isso. Muito do trabalho braçal que servia como treinamento para o junior agora é automatizado. E isso gerou a pergunta que paira no ar: "Se a IA faz o que eu fazia

A year ago today, I started at Approov. A hundred days in, I wrote about the transition: leaving management, the refreshing day-to-day feedback loop, the strange experience of relearning a craft I thought I'd lost. I stand by most of it. But a hundred days is enough to notice a change; it takes a year to understand it. So here is what a year taught me that a hundred days couldn't. The rust that mattered At a hundred days I called myself rusty. I was. I reached for patterns that no longer fit and looked up syntax I once knew by heart. I expected that to be the hard part. It wasn't. The rust came off faster than I feared, and somewhere along the way I realised I'd been worried about the wrong thing entirely. The agentic era arrived in earnest this year, and it quietly rewrote the job description. The premium skill is no longer how fast you can produce code from memory. It's whether you can write a precise specification and make a strong architectural decision, then judge honestly whether what comes back is any good. Those are not new skills for me. They are the exact skills that years of reviewing architecture and mentoring engineers had been sharpening the whole time. The craft I sat down to relearn was not the craft that turned out to matter. I spent years assuming management had pulled me away from engineering. It hadn't. It had been quietly preparing me for the version of engineering that was coming. Charity Majors has a name for the shape of this: the engineer/manager pendulum. The idea that a healthy career swings between the two, rather than treating management as a one-way door you walk through once and never come back. I didn't choose when mine swung back. But it swung the right way, and the years spent on the other side weren't lost. They were compounding. A secure transaction is a secure transaction The work itself has been a homecoming of a different kind. I spent years in payments. Now I work in mobile and API security. On paper those are different worlds

If you have ever opened a system design article, seen a diagram with twelve boxes, three databases, a message queue, and the words "eventually consistent," and quietly closed the tab, this post is for you. There is a myth that you need years of experience running large systems before you can learn system design. You don't. Plenty of engineers learn it before they have ever deployed anything bigger than a side project. What you actually need is the right starting point and a way to build intuition without access to production-scale traffic. That is exactly what this guide gives you. "But I've never built anything at scale" Good news: neither had most people the first time they learned this. System design is not a memory test about how Uber works. It is a thinking skill: given a vague problem and some constraints, make a sequence of reasonable trade-offs and explain them clearly. That skill does not require having operated a system serving millions of users. It requires understanding what the moving parts do and practicing the reasoning. The experience helps later, but it is not the price of entry. So drop the idea that you are "not ready." You are ready to start today. The honest minimum prerequisites You do not need much, but you do need these four things. If any feels shaky, spend a few days here first; it will save you weeks of confusion later. What happens when you load a web page. Client sends a request, DNS resolves a name to an address, a server responds. If you can sketch that, you're fine. The two kinds of databases. Relational (tables, rows, SQL) versus non-relational (documents, key-value). You don't need to be an expert, just know they exist and roughly when each fits. What an index is. A way to find data fast without scanning everything. That one sentence is enough to begin. Basic estimation. If something gets a million requests a day, roughly how many is that per second? (About 12, for the record.) The ability to do rough math out loud matters more than

Much of it comes from heavy-duty trucks and buses that burn diesel.

The second word a professor told me to carry for life. It took me years — and a lot of vectors — to start understanding it. A look back — long before any of the tools we argue about now. The same professor — Sang Lyul Min — handed us these words one at a time in lecture. After trade-off , two more stuck with me. But before the second word itself, here are the two pieces of news he brought to class around then. The internet barely existed; information moved through journals, magazines, and word of mouth. Looking back, it's a little amazing how much still got through. When a chess machine started winning The first breakthrough I remember: computers had finally started playing chess on roughly even terms with the world's best. Deep Blue beat Kasparov around 1996, so the machines he was describing came just before — names like Deep Thought, ChessMachine, Socrates II. He told us, deadpan, that one human competitor's head had "physically burst" from the strain — and we groaned, "Come on, Professor, that's a bit much." We live on the far side of AlphaGo now, so it's easy to forget how much we shrugged at all this back then. I was a decent amateur — a 1-dan at Go, hopeless at janggi (Korean chess) against any program — and I still remember the hollow, slightly bitter feeling the AlphaGo era left even in someone who only ever played for fun. A full-body scan The second: in the US, death-row inmates had consented to the first dense full-body image scans. That was the news that taught me — embarrassingly late — that this kind of computing could reach all the way into medicine. Computers, it turned out, showed up in the strangest places. orthogonal Back to the words. The second one, the professor said, would run through my whole career: orthogonal . The Korean rendering — 직교하는, "at right angles" — was, naturally, a word I'd never heard. The plain-language version was "unrelated, independent." It came back hard years later, when I had to take vectors seriously — first in linear

I have been writing a lot about AI lately, but this one is more personal than usual. Not a tutorial,...

To dispose of an enemy, make use of another enemy. Use a second party to deliver the blow yourself....

Last week, our company needed to hire an on-site operations engineer. I used AI to screen 310 resumes...

A heatwave, engine upgrades, plus power levels for the next two seasons.

Most developers expect to go through multiple interview rounds, coding assessments, or take-home assignments before getting hired. That wasn't my experience. I ended up working with the YouTuber I had admired for years without an interview, without an exam, and without even sending a resume. Here's how it happened. It Started Long Before the Opportunity I started freelancing when I was in Class 9. At first, it wasn't about building a career. I simply enjoyed creating websites and wanted to gain experience while earning some money. Over the years, I worked with different clients, solved different problems, and learned something from every project. Those freelance gigs taught me much more than writing code—they taught me how to communicate with clients, deliver on time, and take ownership of my work. The Opportunity A few months ago, one of my favorite YouTubers posted in his WhatsApp community that he was looking for someone to build a website. I happened to be a member of that group. As soon as I saw the message, I reached out and told him I could build it. Instead of spending time wondering whether I was "good enough," I decided to let my work answer that question. Building It in Under 24 Hours Once I received the project, I focused entirely on delivering it as quickly as possible without compromising quality. I completed the website in less than 24 hours. After reviewing it, he requested a few modifications. I implemented them immediately and delivered the updated version. At that point, I assumed the project was finished. The Unexpected Offer A few days later, he contacted me again. He had another web application that had been stuck because a previous developer couldn't complete it. He asked if I could take over. That conversation eventually turned into a job offer. No coding interview. No aptitude test. No technical assessment. Just trust built through delivering one project well. What I Learned Looking back, I don't think I got the job because I replied quickly

This is the fourth post in Craft & Code , a short Friday series about what carpentry can teach us about AI, skill and the future of software. Last week I worried about where the next generation's judgement will come from. This week, why we may not notice it is missing until it is too late. My father built me shelves in an alcove when I was small, and I mentioned in the first post that they may still be there for eternity. The other side of that story is the one every household knows: the shelf that is not quite right. The one that sags under a row of books, or sits a degree off true so that anything round rolls gently to one end. You do not need to be a carpenter to see it. A bad joint, a door that will not close, a shelf that dips — the material tells on the maker, immediately and to everyone. That is the comforting version of the analogy, and the one I expected to write: carpentry is honest about its failures because they are visible, while software can look polished and be rotten underneath. A wonky shelf looks wonky; bad software looks finished. It is a tidy line, and there is real truth in it. But it is only half the truth, and the more interesting half should worry us — because the moment you go up from a shelf to a serious piece of engineering, the comfort falls away completely. Consider two of the most admired structures of the last century. The Tacoma Narrows Bridge was designed by one of the leading suspension-bridge engineers of his day: elegant, slender, celebrated. It opened in the summer of 1940 and tore itself apart in the wind that November, twisting like a ribbon because the design had not reckoned with how the deck would behave aerodynamically. Nobody had seen a wonky bridge; it looked magnificent. The flaw was real, fundamental, and invisible until the wind found it. The Citicorp Center in New York, finished in 1977, was a triumph of structural engineering, raised dramatically on great columns at the midpoints of its sides. Only after it was compl

You finally get the response. The CV cleared whatever filter it was up against, and now there is a calendar invite for a thirty or forty five minute call. Most developers treat this as the technical screen and prepare accordingly. They load up on system design questions, leetcode style problems, or deep dives into the stack listed in the job post. What actually happens in that first call is often lighter on code and heavier on whether the person on the other side can picture working with you week after week. The engineering lead or hiring manager is trying to answer a few practical questions the CV could not fully settle. Can this person explain their decisions without needing constant context? Do they push back on unclear requirements in a way that moves the conversation forward instead of creating friction? Do they already understand how remote contractor work tends to flow, or will every interaction need extra translation? The candidates who lose ground here rarely fail on raw technical ability. They lose it on rhythm and assumptions. Some over-prepare the technical side and under-prepare the part where they need to show how they handle ambiguity. Others treat every question as an interview question that demands a polished answer, when what the lead wanted was a working conversation. The call ends with a quiet sense that this person will need more hand-holding than the role allows. Timezone and async signals are another place people slip. When a candidate spends the call reassuring the other person that they can work US hours or that they are always available for meetings, it often lands as uncertainty. The reassurance backfires. Teams that hire contractors remotely have already accepted some timezone spread. What they want to hear is how you have made async work in the past, what you leave behind when you log off, and how you keep momentum without daily syncs. The calls that move forward feel like two people working a problem together. The candidate is not sitti

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

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