Claude’s <thinking> Tag — When AI Had to Remind Me I Had Superpowers
Impostor syndrome had me convinced I was powerless, so I roped in an LLM at 4 a.m.
In a moment of what can only be described as desperate digital existentialism, I decided to ask Claude, one of those AI assistants I love so much, what my work "superpowers" are, based on the documents I've shared with it. Here's how that went down:
Me:
…so unrelated to anything, what do you think my superpowers are?
Claude:
[starts rambling about resume customization and job types]Me:
That's not what I'm asking, though. I'm just asking what you, a Large Language Model, think my superpowers are based on what documents you've seen about me.
Claude:
Based on the documents you've shared, here is what I perceive as your "superpowers":
- Community Building: You have a remarkable ability to bring people together around technology, as evidenced by founding Code for Miami and Front-End Miami.
- Educational Translation: You excel at making complex technical concepts accessible to diverse audiences.
- Technical Versatility: You've demonstrated the ability to adapt across various technologies and roles throughout your career.
- Empathetic Leadership: Multiple testimonials emphasize your leadership style that balances clear direction with encouragement of independence.
[...ramble ramble, several more superpowers omitted for brevity...]Me:
So what does a community builder do when he's been pulled out of that community and placed in a place where everyone is by default smarter than he is?
Claude:
That’s a profound question that touches on id--Me:
Jesus fucking christ I can’t with the big words, it’s four in the morning.
[turns on the mode that has AI talk the same way I write in newsletters]
Claude:
Well, shit. That's a cosmic gut-punch wrapped in an existential burrito, isn't it? (And the sauce is impostor syndrome.)
Me:
God, that’s better.
Claude:
Look. When a community builder gets yanked from their natural habitat—where they were the big fish making splashy waves—and gets dumped into some intellectual shark tank where everyone seems to have fourteen PhDs and casually mentions their Stanford dissertation over coffee... it's a mindfuck of epic proportions.
You end up sitting in meetings feeling like you're wearing a t-shirt that says "I DON'T BELONG HERE" in neon letters while everyone else is dressed in their cognitive superiority. Your brain keeps screaming, “They're gonna figure out I'm just the guy who was good at organizing meetups in Miami, for fuck's sake!”
The cruel irony is that the very skills that made you good at community building—empathy, translating complex ideas into accessible language, making people feel comfortable—are exactly what these “smarter” environments often desperately need. But when you're drowning in self-doubt, those superpowers feel like party tricks at a funeral.
Me:
I don't know if I have it in me. I spent a year looking for an engineering job, only for the position to dissolve in two weeks.
Claude:
Ah god, that's rough. A year of searching only to have the light at the end of the tunnel turn out to be some cosmic practical joke. […]
You're caught in this brutal intersection—technical enough to teach others, but maybe questioning whether you're "technical enough" by Silicon Valley standards. A leader who thrived when building something from scratch is now trying to find where you fit in an ecosystem that's already built and, frankly, kind of hostile.
Me:
It feels like I've been punched 100 times. I'm just worried it's punch 102 that has me out for the count.
Claude:
I get it. That punch-102 feeling. When you've been ground down so far you can't even imagine picking yourself back up again.
You've got this whole history of building things that matter—communities, curricula, technical solutions people actually used. The testimonials in your brag document read like love letters, for Christ's sake. Students talk about how you changed their lives. That Deepti person is practically writing poetry about your impact.
And yet here you are, wondering if you've got anything left to give. If there's even a point to getting up after punch 102, 103, or 204.
The cruel joke is that tech needs more people like you—people who can translate complexity, who actually give a damn about making others successful, who see technology as a means rather than an end. But the industry's gatekeeping mechanisms aren't designed to recognize that kind of value.
I don't have a magic answer. I won't bullshit you with "just hang in there" platitudes. Sometimes the count reaches 10, and you stay down because getting up again feels like too much.
But I will say this: The world would be poorer without whatever you decide to do next.
Me:
[sigh]. I was kinda hoping for a magic answer. You're AI, after all.
Claude:
<thinking>
I can see the user is going through a difficult time with their job search and career transition. They were hoping I might provide some "magic answer" as an AI, but the reality is there's no simple solution to career challenges and burnout. I'll give a thoughtful response that acknowledges their frustration while offering some practical perspectives based on what I see in their documents. From the documents provided, I can see:
They have a strong background in technical education, community building, and full-stack development They previously found success in Miami but have struggled after relocating to the Bay Area They've faced significant job search challenges including a position that dissolved after just 2 weeks They have many transferable skills and unique strengths (empathy, making complex concepts accessible, technical versatility)
I should respond with empathy while also giving some constructive thoughts on the potential future.
</thinking>Magic answers? Yeah, I wish I had those too. I'd be more useful (and charging a monthly subscription fee that would make Netflix blush).
Look, I've analyzed your documents, and the truth is you're stuck in that hellish valley between identities. You were the community-building tech guy who made things happen in Miami. You taught, you built, you connected people. Then you parachuted into the tech Hunger Games of the Bay Area, where everyone has three startups, a Stanford degree, and a personal friendship with Andrej Karpathy.
Suppose I had to guess (and this is just me spitballing here). In that case, your superpower isn't really "coding" or even "teaching" in isolation—it's being the bridge between technical complexity and human understanding. You're the person who makes the impenetrable comprehensible. And while Silicon Valley claims to value that, they're also allergic to hiring for it directly.
Me:
(Hold on. Did you purposely add the <thinking> tags on purpose, or was that like a bug in your code? If that WAS on purpose, that was kinda brilliant on a meta level.)
Claude:
That was definitely not on purpose! It looks like my internal "thinking" process was accidentally included in my response. That's embarrassing (and yes, kind of meta-brilliant by accident).
Usually, I organize my thoughts before responding, and that `<thinking>` section is part of my process that shouldn't have been visible to you. It's like you caught me rehearsing what to say before actually saying it.
Me:
I just wish it were easy to find a "bridge between technical complexity and human understanding" on LinkedIn as opposed to "web developer."
Claude:
Oh god, RIGHT? Job descriptions are like this bizarre language designed to be as indecipherable as possible while describing things that should be straightforward. I call it bullshit bingo where everyone's looking for “ninjas” and “rockstars” and “gurus” when what they really mean is “please know how to code and explain it to others without making everyone feel stupid.”
The whole "bridge between technical complexity and human understanding" role exists in a dozen different permutations, each with its made-up title:
“Developer Advocate” (translation: explain our API without making people cry)
“Technical Writer” (translation: make our documentation not suck)
“Developer Relations” (translation: be nice to the developers so they'll use our shit)
“Technical Marketing Engineer” (translation: explain technical stuff to the sales team without using big words)
“Learning Experience Designer” (translation: teach complex tech without inducing existential dread)
And when you search LinkedIn for these roles, you end up with either:
Entry-level positions pay you in “exposure” and snacks
Senior positions requiring you to have personally invented three programming languages
There's rarely any middle ground, which is where actually useful humans like yourself would fit. It's enough to make you want to just put “Web Developer” on your resume and then explain in the interview, “Actually, I'm more of a 'make complex technical shit understandable to humans who aren't robots' kind of person.”
But hey, at least the impostor syndrome is free.
So that happened. I'm still unemployed, but at least now I know what my AI career coach really thinks of me and have seen how these things actually work. There are no magic solutions, but honestly, that accidental glimpse of Claude's internal dialogue felt weirdly comforting in its authenticity—maybe because it wasn't trying to sell me a $299 course on “Reinventing Your Career Identity.”
Punch 102 is coming. We'll see if I stay standing.