Everyone has regrets.  Anyone who says they have lived life without any regrets is either lying, they are not introspective, or they are a narcissistic sonofabitch.

My greatest regrets in life have been when I ignored my instinct.

Most of the time, these were professional decisions:  I allowed distractions to keep me from fully developing a software idea I started, even though I knew that the concept had great potential. I ignored my instinct and chose instead to “play it safe” by focusing on contract work rather than venturing into the wild unknown.  More than a few of “my ideas” were later developed into competitive products by other people.  A classic case of “Hey, I had that idea four years ago!  If only I had trusted my instinct.”

I sometimes hired designers and programmers who I liked as individuals, even though they didn’t necessarily perform at the capacity I needed them to.  Against instinct, I hired them anyway, and against instinct I often kept them on the payroll even after it became clear that they were not up to the tasks.

More than a few times, I made decisions in my personal life in which my instinct was screaming at me to change course.  “Don’t date her, she’s a basket case!”  “No, it’s not ok to carry credit card debt so you can buy a better paintball gun.”  I dismissed that inner voice just so it could later tell me “I told you so!”

Instinct needs to be honed.

Instinct needs to be honed.  We don’t necessarily possess great instinct as young adults, so it probably stands to reason that it is normal when we find that our choices aren’t always optimal.  If instinct is a sword, it’s got a dull edge when we’re in our 20’s.

Eventually, we gain enough experience and study the consequences of our decisions. The Blade of Instinct gets sharpened.

For me, it took crushing six-figure debt, a divorce from my wife of ten years, and a significant career change–all happening at once.  I couldn’t ignore my instinct anymore, and I was forced to make difficult decisions which were pretty scary for my 32 year old self.

What at the time seemed like an overwhelming rock slide of bad events turned out to be exactly the whetstone I needed.

Fast forward just a few short years, and I’m debt-free, I have a wonderful new Wife 2.0, and my career is empowering and rewarding.

I didn’t declare bankruptcy like I feared I would have to.  I instead trusted my instinct and became a rabid budgeter, slicing out anything I didn’t need (such as eating out, cable TV, all hobbies, any unnecessary driving). I pushed hard by volunteering to fill in for coworkers at the new job, asking lots of questions, and reading lots of books. I used my off hours to tackle freelance projects. It took sacrifice and time, but the credit card balances whittled down with each month.  Then, the student loans and mortgage fell too.

I stumbled upon future Wife 2.0 (aka RaeLea) and even though I swore I would never remarry, my instinct told me that I had found a rare gift.  She has an even stronger work ethic than I do.  She shares my values, supports my dreams, and she appreciates the benefit of sacrificing short-term comforts in exchange for long-term objectives.  I trusted my instinct, and Mrs. Hurt has proven to be a true partner.  Life is hard to handle by one’s self. A partner sure is nice to help carry the burdens and to celebrate the accomplishments with.

What proved even tougher for me than the change of relationship (difficult as that was) was the change of careers.  I dreamt of being an entrepreneur since I was a kid, and I started my website development business back in 1999.  To go out and get a “real job” felt like giving up on that dream.  It felt like I was giving up on my clients. In short, it felt like failing. It took me awhile to get past that feeling of failure.  I will write more on this subject in future articles on this site.

The challenges that come with geosteering an oil drilling rig are, at first glance, wildly different from running a website development firm. The culture, interpersonal politics, and work environment couldn’t be more opposite.   Wellsite geology is a highly technical job and yet there are enough ill-defined variables that it does require a sort of “sense” which only comes from experience and careful observation. This new career, as it turns out, benefits from strong computer skills and a sharpened instinct.

I cannot erase my mistakes, but I can learn from them.  I no longer doubt my instinct.  I know my Blade of Instinct will continue to become stronger and sharper over time.

Trust your instinct;  it might just surprise you.

“I don’t remember where I was when I realized life was a game. The more seriously I took things, the harder the rules became.”
–lyrics from “À Tout le Monde” by Megadeth.

Life isn’t fair.  As my own means of coping (and flourishing) in this absurd world we live in, I have began, in recent years, to think of life as a game. If you accept my premise that life is a game, then like any other game, there must be ways of “winning.”  There must be objectives we are pursuing.

So what is the objective of life?

Far be it for me to answer that classic existential question in a single blog post.  I have thought on this question like so many others before me have, and so many people after me will.  Deeper thinkers than this squirrel have meditated on the subject of existentialism and have reached their own (sometimes) profound conclusions.  I think it is safe to assume that the answer is different for each person:

• To leave the world a better place than you found it.
• To be successful (however “success” may be defined for you–happiness, wealth, or maybe wisdom).
• To continue your genetic lineage (through procreation).

What do each of these answers have in common?

It is to create a legacy.

We as mortal beings have a finite amount of time to leave our marks on this planet.  An infinitesimal amount of time in fact.  We are hardly more than miniscule blips in history.  Most humans will never be remembered when their time on this planet comes to an end.  That is sobering, isn’t it?

In our quest to give meaning to our lives–to be more than a forgotten blip in time–we each in our own way strive to create something which lasts beyond our own corporeal bodies.  We want to create an impression on the world, however small it might be.  To create a legacy which makes our lives have meaning beyond the all-too-brief time we are alive.

So it is that many of us are driven to have children, because our offspring keep our genetic material in circulation, and they keep the memory of our short existence around, hopefully for generations after we are long gone.

Those individuals who have the tenacity, skills, and luck to build wealth during their lifetime may recognize that they can “buy” a legacy through philanthropy:  foundations, endowments, and scholarships.  Andrew Carnegie, John D. Rockefeller, JP Morgan, and other industrialists learned this and their names live on in part because of the investments into legacy projects which they made in their golden years.  In more modern times, we see this in action with the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, The Jimmy Carter Center, and Oprah’s Angel Network.

My wife and I have chosen not to have children.  We are definitely not wealthy.  Fortunately, we do have some creative talent, so we are developing our writing skills with the goal of publishing our work.  With persistence and some luck, we hope to create our legacy by helping others and by leaving our mark with the written word.

It’s a tough game we play, this game of life.  We have a limited amount of time before the clock stops, so we had best work hard if we want to win!

Tell me, Dear Reader:  how will you create your legacy?  Share your ideas by posting a comment below.

I had never possessed half-dollar coins in all my life.  Granted, at the time I had lived just thirteen or fourteen years.  When I saw the shiny nickel likeness of John F. Kennedy resting on the table unattended, I knew that was my chance to have them as my own.

I might be remembering certain details of this story incorrectly, as time has a way of making memory rusty.  It’s an irony and a scientific fact that the more we think about an event, the less accurate that memory becomes.

Allow me to rewind a bit.

My Uncle George and I were hauling hay bales together, as we did every Summer while I grew up on the family farm. I was too young for a driver’s license, but I was old enough to assist by driving the truck within the field while he operated the loader tractor to pick up and load the round bales onto the trailer. My assistance was minor but saved miles on both the tractor and my uncle’s feet.

My Dad and uncles rented some acres in nearby Billings County, which meant a 48-mile drive for each load back to the farm. We would start at dawn and haul until just before dark–as late as was legally and safely allowed for the oversized loads.

My favorite load of the day was between the second and third round trip, as that fell around lunchtime.  If the timing was right and we were going to be passing through the tiny town of South Fairfield at noon, Uncle George would sometimes swing into the Four Corners Cafe and treat me to a burger and fries.

After one of those lunches, my uncle produced a few half-dollar coins and placed them on the table for the waitress’s tip. I asked him if I could have those coins.

“I would leave the tip in cash,” I quickly added.

He flatly refused my offer.  When he went to the cash register to pay for the meal, I was left alone.  Just me and those shiny coins.

I knew what they were, of course–I was not that sheltered.  I knew their face value, and I figured it was fair to the waitress if I exchanged the half-dollars for cash.  So I dug through my juvenile nylon-and-velcro tri-fold wallet, placed a sum of dollar bills equal to the coins, and slipped the round metal into my pocket.  No big deal.

In the cab of the old International tandem-axle truck, rolling along Highway 85 several miles south of Fairfield, I brought out the coins to study them.

My uncle glanced over at me from the driver’s seat, noticed what I was holding in my hands, and chastised me for taking the coins.  I hurriedly explained that I didn’t steal them; I left cash for the waitress.

My uncle explained to me that the waitress was someone he knew.  She was working summers to pay for her college, saving up tips to pay for tuition. Her old-school father (a local rancher, if I remember correctly) offered to help her out by matching every half-dollar coin she earned in tips.

Of course, I instantly felt terrible about my actions.  I still do, if that is not self-evident!

Uncle George did not want the coins back (I offered, repeatedly).  In hindsight, I think he knew that this would prove to be an important and lasting lesson on my impressionable mind.

I think what resonated with me–and the fact that I still think about this some 20 years later–is that:

• The value of the coins exceeded their face value. I had basically stolen from that hard-working waitress.
• It wasn’t about monetary value at all, but sentimental value.  I don’t know that I really understood “sentiment” when I was 13 or 14.  I do now.
• My uncle was sending a gesture of friendship and familiarity to someone he knew, and I interfered with that message.
• Ultimately, I disappointed one of my role models. That’s not something one gets over easily.

My uncle is a storyteller, and I don’t know if the story he told me about the waitress was true or not.  I do not have any reason to believe it wasn’t true. However, even if it was just a fabricated fable, the message stuck with me.

I am not sure what I did with those coins. They lost some of their luster for me. I think I dropped them in the collection basket at St. Bernard’s.  Just as likely, I kept them. They may still be rattling around somewhere in a jar packed away along with the other tangible representations of my childhood and the lessons learned.