“I’m surprised you care.”
Those words were spoken to me years ago by my friend and SpaceX coworker Bryson Gentile. I had hundreds of conversations while working there, which will forever remain with me as life lessons. This single conversation ranks among the top five for me personally.
Bryson was one of the lead engineers on the Falcon 9 rocket in the integration area. He was great to work with. He was extremely pragmatic and, at the same time (like most in his area), extremely driven to get stuff done.
“What do you mean?” I responded, as I was a little confused.
He doubled down and said something along the lines of, “You are not the one building the vehicle. So why do you feel so invested in what we do and how we do it?”
I questioned the engineers' requirements and the prioritization of features pretty hard sometimes, sometimes too hard. From his point of view, I should trust what they said they needed and build it in the order they specified. I understood his intent. But I'm not gonna lie, it stung a little bit, and I took it personally.
I was helping build Warpdrive, SpaceX’s internal ERP system that guided the engineering of Falcon 9 and other spacecraft. Ken Venner, the CIO at SpaceX at the time, had a guiding mantra for Warpdrive: “Make it like air.” A whole book could be written about this concept, and it took me years to fully understand its meaning, but the key takeaway is that the software solution must embody the mission and solve the real pain points frictionlessly.
Conversations like the one Bryson and I had were happening every day in our department. People were passionate about building a massive but homegrown solution to improve their work lives. We had high standards, and with them come tough conversations. These were happening constantly - in the lunch line, at desks, in conference rooms, on the floor, essentially everywhere and anywhere (Eureka was another standard discussion zone - if you know, you know).
The exchange between Bryson had its back-and-forths. Finally, I said to him:
“If the vehicle blows up, do you think I should just wipe my hands and say, ‘That’s got nothing to do with me, it’s the engineer’s fault’?”
I told him that I stay awake many nights thinking about what I could do to make the process, the product, and the people better. He saw my point, and the conversation moved on to other topics.
I am willing to bet $100 that Bryson forgot this conversation soon after it was over. However, it was like a seed implanted in my brain, and it continues to grow every time I think about it, and still does to this day.
But Really, Why Do I Care?
I kept wondering, Why do I care?
Why do I feel like I can challenge these insanely brilliant people in what they do in their everyday lives?
Why do I think that I can tell them no or point out that there are different ways to attack their problems?
These people are significantly more intelligent than me. This statement is not fishing for a backhanded compliment; it’s the absolute truth. The space industry is a magnet for attracting insanely brilliant people, and I have been lucky to work alongside hundreds of them. So who am I to challenge them? This is something I battle every day, and it manifests in my world as a form of imposter syndrome.
Why does the software development team care?
Was it because we absolutely shared in your success?
It’s true that when that rocket or satellite launches, a small part of it is due to the solutions we build.
Was it because of the countless hours of work, discussions, and passion that went into getting these solutions out? Working 36 hours in a row, back-to-back, 100-hour weeks, etc?
Sure, but just a little bit.
Really, why I cared boiled down to two reasons.
Reason 1: Empathy Is The Most Powerful Tool
We - the software developers - see how hard the builders work, and we empathize with you. We understand that the software solutions often don't help you, but hinder you, and are seen as bureaucracy. We see that being an engineer in the space industry is a brutal endeavor, with no real off switch. There are always 20-plus things that can go wrong and screw up the build, and small changes can bubble up to huge endeavors.
Seeing the software solutions we build being used by brilliant people like the engineers is so addictive. Seeing the thousands of hours saved, seeing the confidence grow that the parts are being built better, is like a drug. We strive to help you on many levels, including automating redundant tasks, reducing clicks, and eliminating complex, high-risk problems.
What does this mean?
I'm a firm believer that empathy is the most powerful tool a development team can possess.
- Empathy for the situation
- Empathy for the solution
- Empathy for the end user and user experience
- Empathy for how it's built and maintained
- Empathy for the future.
To develop this empathy, you must care, and you must care deeply.
Reason 2: We Share Your Success – And Your Failure
It’s true that the software development team shares in your success, and we take a small percentage of credit for it. We are not delusional; we know it's not a large percentage. It might not even add up to a single percentage point, but we do it because the software and hardware builders are on the same team, solving the same problems.
But we also bear the pain of failure, and this is a significantly larger percentage than the success rate. I have been involved in way too many anomalies and failures; this industry is a hard one. Every single one of them stung. Every single one of them was also polarizing. A failure can make some people feel overwhelmed, but for others, it can be motivating. For the SpaceX team, it was motivating.
We lose sleep when there is a failure, but we also gain greater clarity on how to prevent it from happening again. We feel an obligation to do everything possible to ensure that builds were done correctly. This means, in the words of my friend Zane Shewalter, “Right Part, Right Time, Right Way.”
In all, we are partners in achieving success, but most of all, we are partners in making sure we don't fail.
Partnership Then and Now
So when Bryson asked me why I cared, the honest answer was that it wasn't about pride or territory or proving myself to him and the other brilliant engineers. It was simpler than that: I cared because his mission - along with thousands of others - was my mission. I was in it entirely because what the builders do matters, and they deserve teammates who are just as invested in success and just as afraid of failure.
At Manufacturo, we carry this empathy and partnership into our work. We care about your mission through the solutions we build, the empathy we bring, and the ownership we take.
We're not there yet in building a platform like “Air”. Honestly, I'm not sure we'll ever truly be "there" since it is an endless journey of improvement. But that's precisely why we work as hard as we do, to build the best tools and solutions possible for our users. Because at the end of the day, for us software isn't just code; it's our commitment to the people whose work depends on our platform.
Bryson, my friend, thank you for throwing more fuel on my inner fire. Thank you for asking the question that has made me dig deeper. I care, I care deeply (sometimes too much), but I wouldn't have it any other way.
