Iām sharing this reflection because I think it may resonate with some of the comments Iāve been reading here. If nothing else, those of you who are struggling with your careers right now are not alone. Some of us have been carrying this around for a while.
Iāve been thinking about why Iāve been so unhappy about my career lately, and I think I finally have a word for what is missing.
Compounding.
Iāve been in professional life for about 25 years. I never expected some perfect upward trajectory, and I certainly didnāt think anything was guaranteed. But I did expect the years to add up to something.
I expected experience to compound.
I started in accounting. I worked for one of the largest public accounting firms in New Jersey, with a good reputation and a large client base. It was the sort of place where people didnāt get laid off.
Then 2008 happened.
The auto industry collapsed, dealerships closed, and our firm had a huge automobile-dealership practice. Suddenly people were being laid off. It seemed like practically everyone under 30 was gone, including me.
And then something happened that I never forgot. I approached people I knewāincluding clients I had actually worked withāand some treated the layoff itself as evidence that I must have done something wrong.
āGood accountants donāt get laid off from that firm.ā
I had followed the respectable path and discovered that not only could the path disappear, but people could blame you for being standing on it when it did.
What saved me was that I knew how to write code.
That became a second career.
And I donāt mean that I simply became a programmer. Over the years I learned software, systems, infrastructure, cloud, networking, security and architecture. I became deeply involved in what eventually got called DevSecOps.
DevSecOps had its moment as an industry fad, but the underlying work never stopped mattering. Software still has to be built, secured and deployed. Infrastructure has to work. Identity has to work. Networks have to work. Kubernetes has to work. Certificates have to work. Build and deployment systems have to work. And somebody has to understand how all those things interact when they inevitably donāt work.
I became very good at that.
But hereās the part Iāve been struggling to articulate: after 25 years, I expected being very good at something difficult to change my relationship with work.
I expected some compounding.
I expected that eventually I wouldnāt have to prove myself from scratch every time I walked into another organization. I expected my judgment to carry more weight. I expected more autonomy. I expected to be able to choose problems worth solving rather than constantly auditioning for the privilege of solving somebody elseās problems.
And yes, I expected some respect.
Not deference. Not a corner office. Not people telling me how brilliant I am.
Just the ordinary professional respect that I thought came from spending decades learning a field and becoming genuinely good at it.
Instead, my career has repeatedly reset.
Layoff. Acquisition. Reorganization. New client. New management. New technology. New hiring fashion. New set of people who have no idea what Iāve done before and arenāt particularly interested in finding out.
Start again.
Prove it again.
And now we have AI.
Once again Iām being told, implicitly and sometimes explicitly, that the sensible response is to reinvent myself.
Learn everything about AI. Learn the models. Learn agents. Learn the frameworks. Build things on my own time. Establish expertise before anyone will pay me for that expertise. Predict which technologies will matter five years from now.
Become the AI God.
And I donāt want to do it.
Iām perfectly willing to learn AI where it helps me solve real problems. Thatās what Iāve done with technology my entire career.
What Iām no longer willing to do is assume all the risk of another professional reinvention in the hope that maybe, this time, the investment will compound.
Thatās the part Iām unhappy about.
I thought that by this point in my life I would have accumulated some professional capital. I thought 25 years of experience would give me more freedom, more credibility and more control over what I did next.
Instead, I often feel as though Iām standing at the beginning of another career transition being told to start running.
And right now, I donāt know how to solve that.
But perhaps recognizing the actual problem is useful.
I donāt need to become the AI God. I donāt need another frantic reinvention. And I donāt need to pretend that Iām excited about starting over.
What I need is a way for what Iāve already learned and already done to matter in whatever comes next.
I donāt know what that looks like yet.
But thatās a much more hopeful question to me than asking what I need to become next in order to remain employable.