You know what sounds like a bad idea to me? Probably not, so let me give you an example:

Having the [legacy product] code to refer to is crucial to the database design work we’ll be doing on the new project.

It’s a bit like saying “Hey guys, obviously the old software isn’t meeting our needs, but let’s base our new, replacement idea on the old code”. That’s not going to be easy to do. In fact, I’d venture to say that the smarter, clearer way to go would be to take a good look at your current requirements, go over your use cases, and “user stories”, and start from scratch.

I’m willing to be 90% wrong here, in general cases, except for where my vagueness and ambiguity hides the real-life project to which I have direct knowledge.

Moving away from the technological view, and into your life -

Are you trying to compare your past to the present, in order to build the future?

Forgetting the past and taking a good inventory of the resources you currently have available is going to be the most stress-free way to move forward.

Of course you need to examine history to learn from your mistakes, and observe the way others have done things correctly. But when it’s time to move on to something new, it’s hardly ever good to use old material to build something new.

Old wine-skins, new patches, and all that.

I can’t remember who exactly said this, but I remember some notes I jotted down concerning community websites, Churches in particular, that goes something like this this:

[concerning the use of the internet, and social applications] … your users are already doing this, in your pews.

If they’re online, why aren’t they talking about you?

And one that ties it together, and prompts you to take this seriously:

The internet is a ‘web’ of links. With nothing to link to, even their mentions (of you) aren’t “sticky”.

Think about that.

I think I jotted those down while listening to an episode of Geeks and God.

Growing up, I thought that the cupboards and medicine cabinets stocked with so many different little rattling bottles and such were a bit weird. I wondered why there was always so much stuff in there.

And I remember, for some odd reason, the sound of someone stumbling to the bathroom in the middle of the night, fiddling around to find some noisy container, shaking something out of it, and heading back to whatever bed they crawled out of. (It was mostly the adults or grandparents – “the old people” – doing this).

Tonight, I found myself trying to quietly enter the bathroom, dig through the cupboard to find the headache medicine amongst the basket of once-used “pink stuff”, bug spray, allergy relief, etc; and to shake out just one of a crowd of those little pills, and quietly make my way back to the room.

Somehow, I found myself listening to all of these sounds from outside my own perspective and I realized what was happening: I now fully qualify for the “old person” award, given out by my 10-year-old self. Thanks, self.

I accidentally stumbled across the blog of Kevin DeYoung the other day, and noticed an interesting looking book, of which he is the author: Just Do Something.

I’ve never read any of his books, and very little of his blog, so I’m not here to vouch for anything he says. What I’d like to point out is the full title of this book:

Just Do Something: How to Make a Decision Without Dreams, Visions, Fleeces, Open Doors, Random Bible Verses, Casting Lots, Liver Shivers, Writing in the Sky, etc.

The title alone is worth thinking about.

This happens way too often: I’m looking for something programming-related, I accidentally wind up somewhere else on the web (but still programming-related) and end up finding something that, even when taken out of the programming context, can apply to the lives of even my completely non-geeky friends.

I don’t use Perl for any personal or work projects, but stumbled upon a Perl Buzz post that contains a great quote:

If someone asks you about your project, can you explain its awesomeness, and why he should use it? If not, why are you bothering? And if you can, are telling everyone you can about it? If not, why are you bothering?

Obviously, this applies to not only a “project”, but almost any context you can think of. Essentially, if you’re not doing something worth talking about, is it worth doing at all?