On network engineering as modern labor

Have you ever thought about what it really means to be a network engineer? I mean, beyond the technical stuff—the cables, the routers, the protocols—what’s the bigger picture here? Sometimes I wonder if we’re just cogs in this massive machine, keeping everything running, but never really questioning where it’s all headed.



When I first got into network engineering, it was all about the excitement of technology. I loved figuring out how systems worked, how data flowed, how everything connected. It felt like solving a puzzle, and I was hooked. But as the years passed, I started to see a different side of it. The work became routine—configuring, troubleshooting, maintaining. It’s important work, no doubt, but I began to ask myself: Is this all there is?



There’s this idea that work should be fulfilling, that it should give us a sense of purpose. But what happens when the work itself becomes repetitive, when it feels like you’re just keeping the wheels turning? Is that enough? Or is there something more that we should be striving for?



In Morocco, there’s a deep respect for craftsmanship. When someone creates something with their hands—a piece of pottery, a handwoven rug—it’s not just about the final product. It’s about the process, the skill, the tradition behind it. There’s a certain pride in knowing that what you’ve made has a purpose, that it’s contributing to something bigger.



But when I think about network engineering, I don’t always get that same sense. Sure, we’re building and maintaining the infrastructure that powers the modern world, but there’s a certain detachment in it. We’re not crafting something tangible, something you can hold in your hands and say, “I made this.” Instead, we’re working with abstract systems, with invisible networks that most people don’t even think about until something goes wrong.



So, what does that mean for us? Are we just modern-day artisans, crafting invisible systems that keep everything running smoothly? Or are we something else entirely—technicians in a vast, impersonal system that we can’t fully control or even understand?



And then there’s the question of impact. In traditional Moroccan culture, the impact of your work is immediate and visible. A carpenter knows that the table he builds will be used by a family for generations. But in network engineering, our work is often behind the scenes, unnoticed unless something breaks. Does that make it any less valuable? Or is there value in the very fact that our work is invisible, that it supports so much of modern life without drawing attention to itself?



But here’s the thing: even if our work is largely invisible, it’s still essential. Without network engineers, the world as we know it would grind to a halt. No internet, no communication, no digital economy. We’re the ones who keep the lights on in this digital age. And maybe that’s enough. Maybe there’s pride to be found in being the quiet backbone of modern society, in knowing that even if no one sees our work, they rely on it every day.



So, where does that leave us? Is network engineering just another job, or is it something more? Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s about finding the balance between the routine and the meaningful, between the technical and the human. And maybe it’s about recognizing that even in the most modern of professions, there’s room for tradition, for pride in our craft, and for a deeper understanding of the impact we have on the world.



In the end, it’s up to us to decide what network engineering means to us. It can be just a job, or it can be a calling—a way to contribute to something bigger, even if it’s not always visible. The choice is ours.

Thanks to Reda and Alex for reading drafts of this.