I sometimes wonder how realistic the industry’s expectations really are.

Now, don’t get me wrong—I’ve always been pro-business and a strong believer in private enterprise. But I can’t help squinting with skepticism at the often poorly formulated and definitely undervalued skill sets that make up a lot of today’s job postings.

Take, for instance, a job listing a colleague shared recently. They were looking for computational designers and specifically asked for experience with two programs that are direct competitors. 

The expectation was clearly that the candidate would hit the ground running, fully mastering two completely different and equally complex skill sets—each of which requires significant time and effort to learn. As it is normal salary expectations are “up for discussion”. 

How can you even begin to discuss the value of something when you don’t understand that the two skills you’re demanding are from competing systems? It’s highly unlikely anyone has both mastered, let alone readily available.

The issue isn’t that these skills can’t transfer—they absolutely can—but achieving high competence in one and translating that to a competing system would take at least six months of focused effort. Yet this hypothetical professional is also expected to excel in a wide range of other disciplines.

For example, they’re supposed to have project management expertise—even though the role isn’t managerial—and a deep understanding of building and construction, specifically tied to one localized construction system. Never mind that there are countless other equally viable solutions out there and your client and budget will change this at every single turn.

On top of all that, there’s this pressure on students to finish school as quickly as possible, cramming in all this knowledge and skill mastery without acknowledging that learning takes time and effort. It’s a complete disconnect from how knowledge is actually built.

And here’s another fun fact: while this chaos plays out in the private sector, more formalized educational institutions are off on the other extreme. Universities in particular will spend years dissecting the consequences of hunger without ever teaching anyone how to bake a loaf of bread. That’s left for the PhDs—if they even make it past the first semester.

All of this unfolds while we’re collectively clinging to the illusion that, someday, we’ll accumulate enough knowledge to reach the kind of economic stability our predecessors seemed to enjoy. It’s like chasing an illusory carrot dangled just out of reach, with a very real stick constantly prodding us forward.

In this, I can’t help but agree with Bauman, who likens modern life to an endless race. The point isn’t whether there’s a finish line or not—it’s the relentless act of running itself, until you’re forced to stop due to injury, exhaustion, or old age.

It’s no wonder people are constantly striving to find new value and stretch their capacities. As an educator, I see this firsthand: by the time you finish preparing one series of lectures, your content already needs updating.

In this quasi-apocalyptic scenario, the only solution I see as viable is to cultivate a love of learning and a genuine interest in sharing knowledge. These, at least, can serve as motivators to keep moving forward in the never-ending cycle. Whether this is disheartening or motivating depends entirely on where you choose to focus.