When a Familiar Door Closes
September 30, 2024
By Keith Sones, seasoned utility industry executive
Most of the articles I’ve written have been based on personal experiences, many of them occurring decades ago, which eventually translate into helpful life lessons. The years allow the events to marinate in a savoury stew of time and reflection, clarity never coming immediately, or even soon. It’s more like the morning fog slowly lifting to allow the sun to shine on what were, moments ago, shimmery ghost like images without definition. That’s of course, if it comes at all.
In some cases, however, the rule of what normally happens is shattered. Whereas the lucid ideas most often form over many years, like a slow horse drawn carriage that’s going in no particular direction and is in no rush to get there, occasionally they come screaming in as fast as a race car aimed at the checkered flag. It’s not a coincidence when they do. Sometimes you have no choice other than to grab hold of your experiences and wring out the teachings, because you need them to make significant decisions.
In the past couple of years there have been four events that took me through doors in my mind that I long preferred to keep closed. You know the ones. They’re in the dark musty corners of your psyche, far away from your daily path of travel, cloaked in cobwebs with creaky hinges that barely move, the thick wood panels cold and damp to the touch. You always knew they might be there, feared they would be, but you kept in the lighted hallways because opening them was just not required. Until it was.
When you read the brief list below, you will immediately think I’m being melodramatic. Like, what’s he going on about? Is he that fragile that common events are terrifying? You’ll think it, if you haven’t already done so by scanning down to see what happened. Because we’ve all seen these things happen to friends, colleagues, family members and strangers. The problem is, we rarely stop to think about the consequences, both immediate and down the road. We don’t consider what is going on inside their mind, even when they offer the world a brave and polished exterior.
OK, enough preamble. In no particular order:
- I turned 60
- My job ended
- I ripped my Achilles tendon in half playing pickleball
- Past lifestyle choices showed up as a critical health issue
Like I said, you surfed through this list, looked at each item and said to yourself “So what’s the big deal?” Don’t say you didn’t. I mean, that’s what I would do. That’s what I have done, when I hear about people that have similar things happen. So it’s time for the story.
The first one, rolling over another decade, is no big deal unto itself. It didn’t even bother me, but it kept showing up as a reference point by others.
In late May last year, my wife and I took advantage of a nice spring day and headed to the pickleball facility for a friendly game with my sister-in-law and her better half. If you don’t know what this weirdly named game is, think about playing tennis on a child sized court with ping pong paddles and a ball that moves slowly. I’ve always been an active person so when I leaned out to hit the next shot it didn’t seem like much. However, in the next second when my leg felt it had been hit by a grenade, I knew something wasn’t normal. Before I knew it (OK, there was a long hospital wait involved) I was listening to a doctor with a worried look on her face, asking if she could do a second ultrasound since her medical students would benefit from seeing such a “complete and devastating injury”.
Now I was immobile, relegated to a cast and scooter. And you’re thinking, Keith, it’s still not too bad.
It was during a subsequent visit to the surgeon a few months later that the age thing came up. I had been diligent about the required rehabilitation regime yet didn’t seem to be healing well. He looked at my chart, then stated matter-of-factly “you should have done this when you were 30 until waiting until you were 60”. Translation – you won’t ever be the same. I could no longer run, bike, ski, or even walk properly, and in an instant realized the definition of who I was had to change. The injury was not a big deal. But the death of “Keith the athlete” was something on a completely different level. Crack open and peek through Door #1, the one with “Enter here to discard ego and youth” scrawled across it. Heart beating fast.
Within weeks, I was notified that I would no longer have a job by year end. Terminated. Laid off. Call it what you will, my uninterrupted run of well over thirty years was about to come to an end. Phone calls and emails from company colleagues fell off a cliff, making me understand the term “persona non grata”. However, once the initial shock wore off, I figured ‘OK, I’ll just get another job. Like, this happens to people every day, right? I’ll call up a recruitment firm and get into a new gig. I mean, I know plenty of people. It’ll be easy. Right?’
Wrong.
There were people that showed interest and jobs did exist, but with some significant strings attached. Take a big pay cut. We were looking for someone a bit younger. Sell your home and move across or out of the country, tearing your family in half while you do. Take a demotion. Do all of these things. I was about to take a bit hit. Suddenly what I thought were bright prospects dimmed dramatically. It became apparent that even with the looming final paycheque on the horizon, I had no plan.
In a fit of panic, mixed in with healthy doses of fear and irrational self-delusion, I thought ‘hey, maybe I’ll start a business instead’.
Immediately, as if they had been waiting on standby, the naysayers emerged from the woodwork. “Yeah right. YOU”RE going to start a business. You may have run them but starting one is entirely different. And YOU’RE 60! YOU’RE TOO DAMN OLD TO DO ANY OF THIS!”
Standing in front of the second door, welcoming entrants with a cheery “Come on in when society says you’re too old”. Heart thumping, sweat trickling down my forehead.
Soon to be unemployed, confined to crutches and with rapidly diminishing prospects, I sat in my favourite chair and poured a glass of wine to dull the increasingly hard edges. Well, at least I could forget about things for a while. The second glass of wine made things feel a bit better. And I could definitely count on the third to make all the bad stuff go away, although I did have to put up with the inevitable anger at the world that accompanied the draining of the bottle.
Just like always.
I had carried with me, close at hand, a list of all the reasons to have a few more drinks. Celebration. Sorrow. Anger. The big game. A peaceful afternoon. A nice dinner with friends. It didn’t really matter what the event was, since the list included all of them.
It was a routine set of blood tests, taken because I was about (you guessed it) 60 years old that showed me the error of my ways. Too many years with too many celebrations and bad news and big games. Nothing lasts forever, including the body’s ability to absorb bad habits.
So I snapped. I could come up with a reason, but the fact is that I was letting so many other things dominate me, like old fears and insecurity and anger about loss of control that I couldn’t keep it inside any longer. It was aimed at the one person who I love and trust the most. My beautiful wife. Nothing physical, but she endured an undeserved and unhinged barrage of my invective, anger and fear. A bad day to say the least.
Door number three. The one farthest away from the lit corridors, the cold musty air feeling like a witch’s hand on your throat, suffocating you. Suffocating me. A simple instruction on the ageless wooden frame, written in ancient text on a lichen pitted iron plaque. “Enter when you’re lost. But a warning. This door only swings one way.”
Heart screaming. Chilled and shivering. Tears flowing.
And I walked through the door.
I had to shed all, or at least most things, to pass through. My ego. Long standing fears. Habits. Self denial and self description. Anger. The need to control other people and other things. It was hard. So very hard.
And when I’d done that, a slow walk that took weeks and months, light shone through where I’d been convinced none existed. It was very very bright and I found the parts of me that had been hidden for a long time. Things like wonderful friends, the kind that truly help. Internal strength that filled me. A horizon that was full of possibilities for the future, things I’d never even considered. Happiness abounded. I was back, filled with youthful energy and optimism.
Today. Life is full. I spend meaningful time with my wife, kids, grandchildren and friends. I am full of enthusiasm and see clearly that experience, knowledge and wonderful relationships make for a great business model. I still have the wine glasses and cheerfully offer a quality vineyard product to those around me that know how to enjoy it in modest measure. I’m happier without it.
So, what is the life lesson in this story, apart from the obvious? We all have those doors in our minds. The labels on yours may be a bit different but they will lurk in the shadows, waiting. My advice, for what it’s worth? Seek them out and kick them open. Don’t wait until you’re 60, or any other age for that matter. Don’t fear them. Open them. Shed your fears and live your fullest life. It’s waiting if you haven’t found it already. If this idea frightens you, and it will, take solace in the fact that others will be there to help you. They will.
As for me, I have way too much energy and passion for the power industry to ever retire or slow down. Pickleball may be in the past, but as long as I’m moving forward I don’t need it. There is just too much other stuff going on that makes me sincerely happy.
And for those naysayers that said I’m too old, I have a news flash for you.
I’m just getting started.
