The free apprenticeship hidden in ordinary work

The first argument I had with a college professor occurred in English 101.

My professor made us type an entire essay each class period on the computer. I knew I was a worse writer when typing, so I asked if I could turn in a paper essay each week instead, which she refused. After an unsuccessful coup to deliver an analog alternative to my classmates, I surrendered to the marvel of technology known as the keyboard and finished the semester without putting pen to paper even once.

I didn’t understand why writing by hand improved the quality of my writing at the time, but I now understand it’s a natural consequence of taking the long way.

There is a saying in automation I live by - never automate a mess. Automation magnifies your current level of organization. If you’ve designed an excellent process and automate it, good things will happen. But the opposite is true too - bake a ton of bad assumptions and errors into your process and automation will rapidly exaggerate them.

For writing, a keyboard lets me instantly capture a thought before it fully matures. I can jot down ideas and words the second they enter my mind, knowing the ability to edit is only a keystroke away.

In contrast, a physical pen is significantly slower, and forces my mind - the engine of the ideas - to keep pace with my literal output. With a pen, my argument naturally forms without racing too far in front of the tool I use to capture it. By this labor, I’m honoring the craft and improving its quality. It’s why I wrote the first draft of these words in a notebook instead of a word processor.

I don’t mean to advocate that using technology is a universal sign that you’re taking a harmful shortcut. In fact, shortcuts accelerate our foundational advantages, allowing our craft to shine in ways previously impossible. Unfortunately, there are dangers associated with taking shortcuts that can threaten your growth as a professional.

Let’s start with the ugly side.

In 2022, four MIT students launched a startup to build software for mechanical engineers. When they failed to make any progress, they forked a popular Microsoft product for writing code and built a handy autocomplete feature to make programming easier with the help of AI. For my non-nerdy readers, “forking” means they copied the code from a different code base and used it as a starting point on their own project).

A year later they officially launched this tool as Cursor, which exploded in use and quickly dominated the discourse across software engineering.

Cursor continues to be a revolutionary product. It has allowed nearly anyone to create software without learning much of the underlying craft of programming, and by extension, software engineering. With a series of prompts, producing bespoke, functional software is trivial (much to the chagrin of many in the industry).

My initial experience with Cursor as an active engineer started with confusion - “how am I supposed to use this” - then astonishment - “holy shit, I can generate thousands of lines of code in minutes” - to a sobering acceptance that this new way of working is a shortcut capable of harming an honest pursuit of mastery if not treated with caution.

After seriously adopting Cursor into my work, I started growing apathetic toward the craft. I simply didn’t feel ownership over the work like I used to and lacked the time to earnestly review the underlying code being churned out with AI. But most importantly, the shortcut prevented me from making meaningful mistakes - I wasn’t sharpening my problem solving when something went wrong. I was improving my ability to command AI models to do what I wanted instead.

By contrast, doing things the long way creates opportunities to make and fix meaningful mistakes, which are the foundation of learning and growth. The long way is a free apprenticeship in your craft, and should be taken when the extra effort allows you to improve your skills, judgment, quality or impact. 

If your development would be stunted using a shortcut, and you have a choice, taking the long way honors your journey as a professional.

Shortcuts magnify errors, but they also magnify experience and good decisions. They are not the enemy though - it’s the missed opportunity for another lesson in your craft. Another step in your journey as a master.

As a general rule, the less experienced you are at a skill, the less you should rely on tools that move faster than your thinking. You are robbing yourself of a chance to improve your expertise and judgment, which helps you understand if the tools are working correctly in the first place. Anyone can draw lines with CAD, but the lines only matter when guided by the steady experience of a professional.

In essence, apprentices should take the long way when possible to build their foundation and make the right types of mistakes that shape experience. Experts should rely on tools to accelerate their existing advantages, and take the long way when there are still things to learn.

Extra effort doesn’t automatically add value to what you’re creating. There are many “long ways” that offer little in terms of the experience. It’s more helpful to question if taking the long way will allow you to encounter important lessons on your journey.

Work can be just as much about the thing you produce as it is about the person you become while creating it.

Take the shortest way possible when the result is all that matters. But take the long way when the effort promises to reward you with experiences that will transform your standing in the craft.