My father’s words echoed:
“You’ll never be happy until you’re your own boss.”
At fifteen, I scoffed. What did he know?
He was a slave to his work,
traveling often,
bent to the demands of construction.
I had no desire for back-breaking, toe-smashing labor.
I had a plan better than his,
or so I thought.
But my own path twisted:
dropping in and out of college,
bouncing from job to job,
sleeping on a shared bed with my brothers.
Then came the decision that changed everything:
I enlisted in the Air Force.
Four years passed like four months.
The day I took off the uniform for the last time,
it felt like stepping out of a familiar storm
into an unfamiliar calm, quiet but strange.
A month later,
I became a federal contractor.
I began earning degrees, teaching online,
and climbing the income ladder.
I bought homes and cars,
saved for retirement,
by most measures, I had it all.
Yet something was missing.
Society’s glitter lost its shine.
My father’s words returned, sharper now:
I was still trading my life for work
that wasn’t my own.
A quarter-century later,
I see it clearly,
the wisdom of someone
who walked this road before me.
And I know, as you may too:
true happiness waits on the other side
of ownership, purpose, and freedom.
