In my first column last year, I mentioned I had decided to retire from the information security field in particular and from steady employment in general. It’s been an interesting change, to say the least. While I still stay quite busy, I find myself at a loss at how I managed to keep a full-time job, a side hustle teaching graduate school, and all while maintaining a family and homestead. Today was one of those days when I looked back wistfully asking myself, what was is all about?
I mused about the past and realized I ran headlong into the end of my career without becoming an InfoSec rock star. I didn’t cash in on a ‘Dot Com Boom’ IPO (although I was always around the edges of such opportunities). I didn’t become a world-renowned keynote speaker, nor did I rise to become an entrepreneur and CEO of a much-heralded high technology start-up. Looking at it all through that lens made me feel like I lost out on so many opportunities.
I know many InfoSec rock stars who found international fame coupled with substantial financial rewards. I have colleagues I worked alongside in the nineties who became part of start-ups that went on to become major technology companies: they pocketed millions when they sold their stock. I have other visionary colleagues who invented applications and even hardware that brought them great wealth. Others used their knowledge and skills to become widely respected CEOs of cybersecurity companies. It’s a pretty extensive list.
One could be forgiven for feeling maudlin by such musings, but my upbringing won’t allow me to do so. I am reminded of a Christmastime tradition of my youth. My father would pile us into the ’63 Plymouth station wagon to look at the holiday decorations on the swanky side of town. As we drove around, mom used to comment on the stately brick homes with gardens and expansive lawns.
Lessons Learned
But before we drove back to our 1100 square foot, one-bath bungalow (for two adults and their five offspring), Dad made sure we drove across the tracks to see where most of the other working-class families lived. We rolled slowly past tenement row houses with discarded refuse strewn behind chain-link fences. We watched as a shabbily dressed man carrying a paper sack shuffled along the sidewalk with only a threadbare coat against the Midwestern winter chill. We saw grubby young children huddled on porches.
My father never explained why he drove this route home. He didn’t have to. The lesson soon became emblazoned on our hearts even without a filial lecture: we must always be thankful to our Creator for what we have and seek to help those less fortunate. A decorated WWII veteran, Dad lived those sentiments every day of his short life.
I was prompted to continue with my mental inventory of peers, friends and colleagues from my career. I had a highly successful friend who lost her spouse of three decades to a rare form of cancer. I had a coworker who had to continually fight against alcohol addiction; a fight he eventually lost. However, with most, I just simply lost touch with my coworkers and colleagues as our lives and jobs drifted in different directions. I realized this number far exceeded my memorized list of major success stories.
Looking back, I realize I am one of the incredibly lucky ones to arrive at this stage. Sure, I have my wounds, my excess weight, and my psychological hang-ups. But I made it intact. I survived and got to a place where retirement became a feasible option. That’s far more than many of those I failed to recall.
My recollections center on that one driving component: tenacity. I certainly missed many opportunities and failed to do some basic things that could have catapulted me to become one of those lofty success stories. I made more than one person’s share of stupid career mistakes. But I got up every morning, dragged my butt into work, and did the best job I could. I didn’t count the days or waste time dreaming about an indolent retirement. But I did have to often encourage myself to put in just one more day.
And then, one day, I didn’t have to do so. So now I use my time to try to make it up to my family for my many absences and to invest in others who can use my help. I made it and am eternally grateful to achieve a career milestone unheard of until the mid-20th century. Retirement.
