As I approach what would be the midpoint of my life—if I live to be 120—I find myself laughing a lot.
I laugh at the things that once seemed so serious, so heavy when I was young.
When I was in junior high, a man who owned a computer services company told me I would never be programmer. I had applied to work for free, just for the chance to learn.
Funny thing: I went on to become a major computer tech/programmer. I built several companies around computer services, the internet, even artificial intelligence.
So much for predictions.
My English teacher in high school told me I wasn’t much of a writer.
I struggled in AP English even though I scored in the 96th percentile in English on my SATs. Ironically, it was my English score, not math, that helped me get into university—despite thinking all along that math was my strong suit. In the end, I spent a career writing: proposals, ideas, plans. It turns out English was more important than I ever imagined.
I went to engineering school but never became a “real engineer.” Instead, I became what they now call an Entrepreneur. I left college early, like so many before me, to start my own company. I was very successful at the time.I lived on an island in Miami Beach, drove whatever car I wanted, lived the life I dreamed of as a kid.
Not rich—but rich enough for a happy life.
Now, one of the great ironies: writing—the thing I never liked—is one of my favorite hobbies. Funny, too: I sometimes wonder if anyone reads anymore.
But maybe that’s not the point. Maybe the act of writing itself is the reward.
Life is a paradox.
It pushes you into what you once feared.
It gives you what you thought you didn’t want.
It shows you strengths you never suspected—and weaknesses you have to laugh about.
When I look around now, I see people, especially the young, taking everything so seriously:
Career choices, relationships, where to live, what title to have.
But all of it is transitory. None of it is as permanent or defining as it feels in the moment.
The truth is, you never know where life will carry you.
You can’t predict 5 years ahead, much less 20 or 40.
Carpe diem, vita brevis. – Seize the day, life is short.
Or, as I like to put it: Attack the day. It may be the only one you’ve got.
Don’t let anyone tell you what you can’t do.
Given time and desire, you can learn almost anything.
Maybe I’ll even pick up the violin next—just kidding.
(But I do want to practice more guitar.)
I wonder what I’ll write in the next 60 years.
I hope that I am still be here to find out.
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