I Don’t Think I’ll Be Here in Ten Years. (That’s What She Said!)

Ten years from now, where do you think you'll be? Unless you make drastic changes, probably exactly where you are right now.

The first job I ever had was working as a construction laborer. My uncle owned a home-building company, so it always seemed a foregone conclusion that when I was a teenager, I would join the ranks. The summer I turned 14, I spent a few days each week cleaning up our construction sites.

I was dropped off in the mornings by my dad and spent all day “bunking lumber,” sweeping dirt and sawdust, shoveling gravel, picking up cigarette butts and putting them into a coffee can, and, occasionally, smashing my thumbnails until they bled when hammering TICO nails into metal straps.

That summer, I breathed in a lot of cigarette smoke, heard a lot of foul language, and met a lot of cranky old men who hated their wives and their lives. They weren’t all bad: I also met some decent guys who served as good mentors and really helped me learn the ropes.

By far, the biggest observation I made was that almost none of the men on those job sites had ever said to themselves, “I want to be a construction worker when I grow up.” In fact, most of them had no plan at all.

Yet, simply by not planning, they fell into working jobs like concrete flatwork, painting, stucco, masonry, or roofing — just because it was the first opportunity that came along early in life, and they took it. Then, at age 50 or so, one day, they woke up and looked at their lives and wondered: “How did I get here?”

I know this because I asked most of them.

Many of them complained about how their lives were hard, or how they had arthritis or bursitis or whatever, and I’d ask them why they picked this career if it was such a pain.

Almost to a man, they told me they hadn’t “picked” this career or this job. They didn’t even have the vocabulary to use phrases like “career path.” It was just that somewhere along the line, while they were growing up, somebody they knew (usually a brother, an uncle, or a cousin) had said, “Hey, do you want a summer job? I know a guy who builds houses, and he’s looking for some temporary help.” And that’s about as much thought as they ever put into it.

The lesson I learned from all this was: “Fail to plan; plan to fail.”

That’s not to say that getting a job in construction is a “failure,” of course, just that none of these guys had planned to end up working in construction. So, guys like Alfredo would wake up at 5:00 am, look out the window during the frigid Colorado winters, see the snow piling up on the freezing streets, shake their heads, and say, “Man, I’m getting too old for this...” because they were.

It’s hard to turn 50, then 60, then 65, and still be working outdoors, climbing ladders, shoveling snow, stacking lumber, and balancing on roof ridge beams. And the older you get, the more dangerous it gets.

I’ll never forget Steve, the painter, who was complaining about how he hated his life one day. Cole, the tile guy, overheard this, and shouted out to him: “Hey, man, you’re the one who chose to become a painter!”

I heard Steve shout back, “Don’t remind me!” But I also remember that earlier, Steve told me he never “chose” to become a painter at all.

This message came through loud and clear to me.

As a young, impressionable teenager myself, who was literally working for his uncle for a summer job—just like many of them had when they were younger—I was absolutely determined not to get “stuck” like them.

Later that fall, I decided I would do whatever it took to find a job that I wanted rather than just falling into a career path that seemed to be convenient for a time.

I’m still grateful for the construction industry, and it’s been very good to me over the years. But that very first summer was very informative and I learned about human nature and how no matter what industry you’re in, it’s very easy to just fall into a familiar rut, then wake up a few decades later and wonder what on earth happened.

Don’t just accept the first thing that comes along — take some time to think about it and make a plan.

Ask yourself: “If I accept this job, will I still be happy if I’m working in this industry in 10, 20, or 30 years?”