I realized just now my problem with my job. I am good at my job, and I am rewarded handsomely for my skills. I even like the people that I work with: the people that I hired, I hired because they're good people.
But my job is not, nor has it ever been, where I felt like my calling resides; working in tech was always a means to an end for me.
This morning I was talking to my Dad over coffee as he was telling me about his career, and it was fascinating. It's worthy of writing a book about. And I want to write that book.
But I don't have the time. And I don't have the time because I give so much of my time to other people's businesses. Therein lies the problem with my career in tech: in order for me to do that job well it takes so much of me that I can't find the time or energy to write the things I want to actually write.
My kids are almost all adults now, and I've risen to become a manager. My job is challenging, but my boss is supportive. I should be happy with all this, but I'm not. I'm actually resentful AF.
I have like 20 different answers to the question “if money were no object, what would you do?”
But instead, I exchange my life force for money, and wear the golden handcuffs.
Fuck work; write books.