We’re all pretty big Lord of the Rings fans in our house, both books and movies. A few months ago we rewatched Return of the King, and I was struck by a couple moments in the dénouement that are worth talking about.

The first is one I’ve loved for a while. The hobbits have returned to the Shire and are together enjoying some well-deserved ales. Their reflective mood is in stark contrast to the conviviality around them, in particular one fellow who is showing off a massive pumpkin he’s grown. Our heroes don’t seem to mind the attention he’s getting; they’re content to sit in silence, apart from the crowd, with nothing more than a toast and some knowing glances.

No one else in that pub understands the grave danger they, and the whole of Middle-earth, were in. No expressions of thanks will come to Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin. But that’s okay. It’s how it’s supposed to be. Leaders make the sacrifices so that those in their care can enjoy their pumpkins, and they seek not the credit. Fellowship amongst a small circle of friends who know the story is enough.

But even within that circle, there’s layers to the levels of awareness. It wasn’t until this most recent viewing that I realized that only Sam knows the full story: that Frodo had fallen at the last to the power of the ring, and its destruction was only completed through earlier mercy shown to Gollum, and some luck.

What Sam chooses to do with this knowledge is worthy of especial praise. When the fellowship is reunited in Rivendell, joy and celebration surround Frodo. Even the wizard Gandalf smiles in approval. Sam is late to the party, but catches Frodo’s eye from across the room.

In that moment, I wonder if Frodo is briefly afraid that Sam will interrupt with a tale of how he had to carry Frodo the final stretch, and that Frodo essentially failed, claiming the ring as his own. It would be the truth. But Sam doesn’t do that, and his expression says he never will. It’s as if he said, “I know that you aren’t a perfect hero. That at the end you did things you’re not proud of, even to me. But you gave everything you had, and the job got done. That’s worth celebrating. Fear not, my friend. Some things are just between us.”

I’m not sure if this is canon, but I imagine no one else, not even Gandalf, ever learned what really went down on the slopes of Mount Doom. That too is okay, because Middle-earth survives regardless. And that’s what ultimately matters.

Nothing thrills quite like launch day, and this time, it was nearly literal. It’s been a privilege to have been involved in this work, and fun that I can (finally) talk about it in public. I mean, when it’s on the news that’s gotta mean something right? You can check it out right here if you’re so inclined.

Hopefully the above partly explains why I’ve been pretty quiet here. As I said last month: crunch time. It’s certainly not for lack of ideas; sitting on 95 draft posts as I type. Someday I’ll get through the backlog. Or not. But it’ll be okay regardless.

My Gmail account turned 20 years old today:

I’m fairly certain it’s the only technology, hardware or software, that I’ve used continuously over that time period. That’s an impressive accomplishment; tip of the hat to the Gmail team. May we all be so fortunate in our endeavors to build something that lasts.

While his material is worth reading for anyone in the software industry, Ryan Peterman’s work is especially valuable for mid-level developers looking to take that next step. The Tech Lead’s Playbook, for example, captured the responsibilities better than my own thoughts despite being half the length.

He jumped 3 levels in 3 years at Meta, which is an insanely-fast series of promotions. He knows what he’s talking about! That being said, I bet it took a decent amount of luck too, so don’t expect similar results even if you follow his advice perfectly.