There are certain things that make me nervous or anxious, and there are things that don’t. I’ve been working on a critical, high-profile, very complex project the last 8-10 days and it hadn’t occurred to me to worry. It’s high stakes but I guess I just assume that I’ll get it done – and in fact, I take great delight in the challenge. There’s pressure, but I’m just not wired to feel it in situations like this.
Until now. I sent an email over the weekend to the executive group sharing my opinion that we should work to deploy the solution today, given the rapidly deteriorating circumstances. After much to-ing and fro-ing, they agreed to that about forty minutes ago.
We’re good to go, I think. We’ve tested the best we can, we’ve jammed in the enhanced functionality to handle 300+ users, we’ve reviewed and cross-checked and updated. In the real world, I wouldn’t be doing it yet. There’s still functionality to be added, and fine-tuning to be done, but we don’t have the luxury of a real-world at the moment – the world has turned unreal.
I think I’ve made the right call, and I think we’re ready for it. But this is when I worry. I’m almost at the point I’ve done all I can do. I’m waiting, in limbo, the minutes going slowly by while I’m wondering if I’ve forgotten anything. It would be easier if it was happening in the next hour, and not in three.
If it works I’ll get a lot of kudos, and I’ll feel pretty chuffed myself. It feels like a mighty effort, but the effort isn’t all mine. I work with a vendor who has to do all the hard work turning requests into code. They’ve worked every night and through the weekend. I’m very grateful to them and almost proud of what they’ve achieved.
If this works this is something they can put on their CV and brag about to their friends. I joked the other day we’d have some t-shirts made up after this: I survived the COVID-19 live-chat crisis, 2020. Not the sort of joke you want to make right now for, no matter what happens tonight, it’s a lot bigger than this.