Why do you work?

The first half of this year has been insanely busy.

To paint the picture more clearly, I’ve been living and working on the road for most of this year. In six months, I’ve been to four countries and seven cities, most of which I spent a significant portion of time in America.

In addition to how taxing travel can be, during that time, I was also promoted to team lead, built the most cracked team, and faced both the immense fun and challenges that come with a dynamic community role at a hyper-growth start-up. My personal highlight was trying to be funny at our company offsite in Monterey.

As sparkly as my professional life looked, my personal life was getting a beating. I went through another cycle of a failed romantic relationship, lost touch with friends, was unsure of where to live, and cried over the same guy from the summer of 2022.

Don’t worry, dear reader. I’m pleased to announce that around two months ago, I finally got the signs I’ve been desperately looking for, and now life is pretty good. My life update is another post for another time, or if you’re following me on Twitter, you’d already know that I love using the olive emoji these days.

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My close friend who stuck by the rollercoaster ride asked, “Why do you work so much?” after I’d got them up to speed on this latest season of “Paw’s life adventures”.

Followed with, “Surely you can just stop working for a bit, so you can get the rest of your life in order?”

Although the statement is true, I went on to say that I love my career. Amongst the chaos, you know what hasn’t woken up one day and said “I don’t love you anymore”? My career. Notice that I said career, not job… Because actually, technically, a job has done that. 😆

It got me reflecting, though. Why do I work? As I was formulating the answer in real time, I realised that it was a deeper reason that I never really said out loud.

You’re on your own, kid

Growing up, I was bullied for a lot of things. I was a pushover; I kind of just took it and never stood up for myself.

I was also a weird kid fascinated by computers and the internet. I’d rather spend time in the library at break times, writing a blog post or centering a div on my website than gossip about so-and-so’s outfit from the year above us.

I also had big, untamed, curly hair, was one of the handful of non-white students at my school and couldn’t quite adopt a Yorkshire accent like everyone else.

That is to say, I wasn’t popular or had many friends despite my efforts to make them. After all, back in those days, no one wanted to be my friend when I said, “Hey, I can make a website for you.”

These days life may be different for fellow nerds. Although, to the younger generation reading this: tell your mates to vibe code websites; v0 is a good start. 😉

So when I eventually stumbled into a career in community, it felt like a natural extension of everything I craved: belonging, connection, and a safe place to be myself.

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Working in “Community”

I’ve only been professionally in a community role for the last four years.

When I scored my first community gig, I was charged up and ready to not just hit the ground running but to fully take over the world. This role felt so natural for me to take on and win big.

Being good at what I do isn’t why I work, though. It does help, sure, but after shipping successful projects after successful projects, the quick promotions, the recognition, the obvious community ROI and upward metrics… what is left?

Why should I continue?
Why not quit after a while?
Or just coast it?
Why be a chronic tryhard? (This one is a totally separate post for next time)

The answer is because I need community.

Whenever life got challenging, I got help from my communities. Whenever life was going well, I celebrated with my communities. Both online and in-person. Whenever I need help fixing a bug, I write a topic in a community. When I need to decide if I should purchase something, you bet I’m reading real reviews in community spaces.

I’ve been part of communities, built them, led them and left them.

I see so much value in community that I can’t help but be a tiny bit obsessive.

We all need community

Outside of the metrics and OKRs I’ve had to constantly hit in my job, I realised that if we strip apart the platforms and noise, we all just need community.

You bring together users to collaborate, get support, and learn about a tool.

A username behind an anonymous avatar becomes familiar.

They come back every day because they need support with your tool.

They start having discussions about the ecosystem. Magic begins.

Then, they come to an in-person event.

They come across a group of people to hang out with and stay connected.
They keep coming back to all your interactions with them online and in-person.

Maybe they even make a friend or two.

Suddenly, it’s not just about your developer tool. It’s about having the platform to make real connections happen among real people, not just avatars on the screen.

Why do you work?

For me, in a world that feels increasingly divided, community reminds me we’re not alone.

Every thread I reply to, every event I host, every interaction has the potential to make someone feel seen, heard, and valued.

If my work can give someone even a fraction of the belonging I once longed for, then every long day, every tryhard moment, is worth it.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s what the younger me needed all along.