In 2006, Gladys knocked on my door once more, and I opened it only to the chain stop.
My chief engineer friend, living in San Francisco and now firmly helping to drive the bus of worldwide technological culture change, called me with an offer. They were deep in the throws of creating “…an iPod…a phone…an internet device.” He asked me to join the party.
I flew to Cupertino. Walked the halls again. Signed the NDA’s again. Ate sushi with the team again. Talked housing and relocation with HR. Got the offer, complete with stock options that would eventually be worth…well, let’s just leave it at “a pile.”
My dream job, working for my dream company, and working on my dream project.
I turned it down.
Another regret for this column here? Certainly — you bet your ass — at least, from one perspective.
But how does one accurately evaluate and sort out feelings about unwalked paths when you don’t regret the journey you actually took? You can’t, at least not rationally. So all you can do is lay in the grass, watch the clouds drift by, and daydream.
And in our daydreams, we play an additive game whereby we take the best outcomes from what coulda, woulda, shoulda and add them to the unchanged journey we’ve experienced.
Kinda like, “Let’s take our life as it is and add another couple of zero’s to our bank account. Now how does that feel?”
But, of course, that’s a fool’s errand. Our life, our journey, and the effect on those sharing the road with us is a complex model rooted in chaos. The butterfly effect in full regalia.
All I know is how my journey has turned out so far, and so far, so good.
I turned it down for reasons I’ll never regret, and those reasons have proven sound and correct. But yes, I sometimes still daydream about the what-ifs.
Ultimately, though, I’ve concluded that the entire New Shoes experience is about control, specifically, control over one’s self, life, and direction. Recognizing who has it when you don’t. How to gain it, keep it, and respect it. When you have it, how to wield it properly and empathically.
That tailspin of an experience taught me that I wanted, and still want, to have control. Even if that control means I fail, take the wrong path, or, yes, have regrets.
