The Source Code of Dreams: Debugging Reality

By a Software Engineer

I spend my life in a world of logic. If X, then Y If the code compiles, it works; if it breaks, there is a reason. For years, I treated my life like a legacy codebase—I kept my head down, patched the bugs, and optimized for stability. I bought into the myth that the goal was simply to pay the bills, keep the server running, and not ask too many questions.

But recently, I stumbled across a set of notes from Simon Squibb’s I Have a Dream. It wasn't a technical manual, but as I read through Chapter Two, I realized I had been running on a deprecated operating system.

The Groomer and the Glitch

The notes began with the story of Kellie and her K9 grooming business. On the surface, it has nothing to do with Python or Java. But the note struck a chord: Groomers notice things owners don’t—lumps, bumps, skin problems.

I realized that in my rush to close JIRA tickets, I often missed the "lumps." Kellie’s story wasn't just about cutting hair; it was about care and self-reliance. She was helping a creature that couldn't speak up for itself. As engineers, isn't that our highest calling? To build things that solve problems for users who can't fix the system themselves?

But somewhere along the line, I lost that connection. I started believing that my value was determined by my degree and my job title, not my passion. I had become distrustful of my own dreams, treating them like "guilty pleasures" to be hidden in a private Git repository, rather than a burning ambition to be deployed to production.

The Pain is a Feature, Not a Bug

The notes mentioned that "dreams can outgrow from personal pain." This resonated deeply. The frustration I feel during the daily stand-up, the emptiness of building a feature I don’t believe in—that pain isn't an error. It’s a signal.

Squibb suggests that a dream acts as a finish line. It provides the motivation to run the race. Without it, I’m just running on a treadmill—sweating, working hard, but moving nowhere. I realized that my "side project"—that app idea I’ve been toying with on weekends—wasn't a distraction. It was a prediction of the future. It wasn't working against me; it was working for me.

The Stallone Variable

One specific note stopped me in my tracks: Stallone.

Here was a man who was struggling to survive, yet he refused to just sell the script for Rocky. He insisted on acting in it. He didn't just want the paycheck; he wanted the destiny.

In the tech world, we are often tempted to "sell the script"—to take the high salary at the big tech giant and let go of the ownership of our lives. But a true dream is built for the long term. It is an anchor that holds steady when adversity arrives on your doorstep.

I thought about Chris Gardner, mentioned in the notes—the man who went from homelessness to millions, inspired by a Ferrari, viewing a "hobby" as a potential empire. It proved that a dream changes our perception of reality.

"I Just Believe In It"

The most powerful line in the notes was a simple five-word string: "I just believe in it."

In engineering, we need proof. We need unit tests. But a dream requires a different kind of core logic. It requires a rock-solid core belief. When you truly believe in something, the notes say, your body language changes. You stand taller. Your eyes come alive.

I’ve seen this in myself. When I talk about backend architecture for my boss, I slump. When I talk about my idea, I animate. The dream is influential; it is provocative. It lingers in the mind long after the conversation ends.

Compiling the New Version

I realized that my fear—the fear of leaving the "real job"—could coexist with my ambition. The notes explain that a dream should curtail overconfidence while quelling fears. It ensures you keep moving forward, however rambling the route.

I am done imagining a future and then denying myself the chance to pursue it. I am done thinking my deepest desires are impossible "syntax errors."

Step one was understanding the societal myths. I’ve debugged that now. I know that keeping my head down is a lie.

Step two is tapping into the fuel.

The petrol in the engine is purpose. It is the thing that drives the dream. My next priority isn't writing more code; it's finding that fuel. Because once you have the fuel, and you have the belief, the system cannot stop you.

I am no longer just a coder. I am a dreamer, and I am ready to go out and get it.