Burnout Wasn’t the End — It’s Where My New Flex Began
I am an Old Dog. I’ve been doing the software thing for nearly 30 years. In that time, I’ve seen so many changes in software development that you’d think it would never get boring. Unfortunately, that’s not the case. Once you hit the boredom wall, burnout follows fast, and pulling out of it gets harder. I’ve seen many developers quit because they lost the love they once had—burned out and bored.
How Did I Get Here?
I sort of fell into development. I actually wanted to be a graphic designer. I grew up in the hood, without anyone pushing me toward college. In my head, I couldn’t afford college, but I didn’t want to stay poor, so I chose to do something. I went to trade school for drafting. They still taught the old-school hand-drawing method, which scratched my artistic itch. I also discovered I had a knack for engineering.
After graduating, I went to work for a small engineering firm that had recently introduced CAD into their workflow. The CAD operators and engineers weren’t speaking the same language, but because of my traditional drafting background and some CAD training, I could bridge that gap.
To solve problems, I discovered that the CAD system could be programmed. I thought: I’m smart, I can learn this. And I did. I started solving problems through code, and one thing led to another—I was off to the wonderful world of programming.
In my early career, the internet was just starting, and I was lucky to make some connections that allowed me to explore and learn constantly. For the first 15 years, I built some really cool projects, kept learning at an amazing pace, and got to fail with little consequence and succeed tremendously. I built things that thousands of people used every week, explored hardware/software combos using game controllers, giant laser touch screens, and hardware that was otherwise far out of reach.
I even landed a role in a social music startup I was passionate about. I was listed on a patent for tech we all knew was going to revolutionize the industry. Life was great.
Meanwhile, I started a family and went back to school to make things official. The startup was my dream job—it was going to lead to better money, less stress, and the freedom to choose my own projects. But, like many startups, it didn’t take off. We worked for reduced pay, then no pay, and eventually, I had to take a corporate job.
I kept the passion alive for a while through side projects and contacts, but I was juggling work, fatherhood, marriage, and friendships. Over the next 10 years, there were sparks of cool projects here and there, but more and more, it became work without passion.
The Wake-Up Call
I was fortunate to work remotely for most of my career—even before the pandemic. It was easy to hide my boredom and burnout on the surface, but eventually, my work started slipping. My performance reviews went from “outstanding” to “meh.” Then came the review that changed everything: I was told I was falling behind and I was given mandatory training and milestones to complete them.
It was humiliating. I’d always been the one who knew how to do things. I was the guy who made things happen—until I wasn’t. And I didn’t even know why.
Soul Searching
Those negative reviews woke me up. I had to change. I didn’t want to become the cautionary tale. I had a family to support, and I wasn’t going back to the poverty of my childhood. I had plenty of excuses:
- The projects weren’t challenging.
- The boss wasn’t good.
- Life got too busy.
But excuses don’t solve problems. I was making good money. I have an amazing wife, seven wonderful children, and my dream home. Why couldn’t I get my shiz together?
I had to get back to my roots: why did I fall in love with development in the first place? Why did I leave my original passion for graphic design and dive headfirst into software?
Discovery and Starting Over
Through that soul searching, I realized my true passion was never just coding—it was researching, discovering, and teaching. I loved taking on new challenges, figuring out what tools I needed to solve them, and then sharing that knowledge with others. Mentoring was always one of my favorite parts of the job. Watching the lightbulb go off in someone’s head when they finally “got it” never gets old.
The Challenge: Reinventing Myself
And now, I face the challenge of a lifetime: reinventing myself in my 50s. Yep, I said it—in my 50s. The voices in my head whispered: You’re too old to start over. No one wants to hear from you.
I had to shut that down. I’m too young to give up and settle for mediocrity. And so, the seed for Old Dog, New Flex was planted.
The Discovery: How to Do It
As I said, my favorite thing is learning something new and teaching others. The voices came back: “You’re not a writer.” “No one cares what you have to say.” But I finally realized I had to stop being a little bitch and just do it. Who cares if anyone reads it? This is for me—for my mental health. I need to reignite the fire I once had.
The Execution: Putting Myself Out There
And here we are. I’m putting myself out there for the world to see. It’s early—I have no idea who is actually reading this. But the weeks I’ve spent brainstorming, designing the site, and learning new things have already been key to getting my spark back.
I’m enjoying software development again. I’m excited for the next chapter and the places I’m going to explore. Ideas are flowing again. I know setbacks will come, but I know this for sure:
You can teach an Old Dog a New Flex.
