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Ris Adams
Software Mentor
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The best Scrum Masters I've worked with share one defining trait: they're genuinely curious about everything. Not the kind of curiosity that leads to micromanaging or endless questioning, but the type that drives continuous learning, problem-solving, and team growth. They ask "why" when processes break down, "what if" when exploring solutions, and "how might we" when facilitating team discussions.

Ever notice how the best Scrum Masters seem to have a sixth sense for what’s really going on in a team? Spoiler: it’s not magic, and it’s definitely not mind reading (though that would be a nice superpowerto have!). It’s effective listening—the kind that goes beyond nodding along and actually tunes into what’s said, unsaid, and everything in between.

Agile ceremonies can feel like navigating a social minefield when you're neurodivergent. The constant context switching, sensory overload, and unstructured discussions that energize neurotypical teammates might drain your focus and leave you feeling disconnected from the process.

But here's what I've learned from years of facilitating scrum events and working with brilliant neurodivergent developers: your brain isn't broken, and Agile ceremonies aren't fundamentally incompatible with how you think. You just need the right playbook.

Twenty years ago, being a Scrum Master meant you were the keeper of the framework—the person who made sure daily standups happened at 9 AM sharp and that retrospectives followed the prescribed format. Fast-forward to 2025, and if you're still just moving tickets in Jira and asking "What did you do yesterday?"—well, an AI probably does that better than you.

The role has fundamentally shifted, and honestly? It's about time. I've watched this evolution firsthand through economic downturns, remote work revolutions, and the rise of DevOps. The Scrum Masters who survived and thrived didn't just adapt—they transformed themselves into something the original Scrum Guide never envisioned: strategic business enablers who happen to know agile frameworks really well.

Unless you've won the lottery or have a trust fund that pays out in premium coffee beans, you probably have a job. Most days, you're likely fine with that arrangement—solving problems, sending emails, and optimizing workflows. But let's be real: even the best jobs come with moments that make you want to delete your professional identity and start fresh.

Your git commit history could be telling an epic tale of how your codebase evolved, or it could be a cryptic collection of "fixed stuff" and "updated things." The difference isn't just aesthetic—it's the line between a repository that teaches and one that confuses. Well-crafted commits don't just track changes; they document your code's journey in a way that helps your team and future you.

Every few days, I see another panicked headline about "skyrocketing autism rates" or well-meaning friends sharing concerns about an "autism epidemic." As someone who is autistic, and who has an autistic child, and has spent considerable time studying how systems evolve and improve diagnostics, I want to break down why this framing is both inaccurate and potentially harmful.

The increase in autism diagnoses isn't evidence of an epidemic—it's evidence of progress. Here's why.

I stumbled across Git Notes during a late-night debugging session last week, and honestly, I'm slightly annoyed that I hadn't been using this feature for years. If you've ever wanted to attach persistent metadata to commits without changing commit hashes (and who hasn't?), this hidden gem deserves your attention. And while we're exploring Git's underappreciated features, let's also look at Git trailers - another powerful tool for managing metadata in your repositories.