The fluorescent lights of the fast-food kitchen area buzz ceaselessly, a grating suggestion of just how much I’ve dropped. My hands, when flying throughout a keyboard crafting classy code, now stink of grease and anti-bacterial. Twenty-five years of developing my craft, of late nights and caffeinated coding sprints, minimized to this– turning hamburgers and mopping floors.

However I continue. Except me, but also for the dewy-eyed young boy waiting in your home.

The Cruel Paradox

I bear in mind the day it all came crashing down. The understanding yet distant search in my supervisor’s eyes as she explained that an AI system– one I had actually aided create– had actually provided my role “repetitive.” Two and a half years of interest, dedication, and constant learning wiped out by a formula.

Words still echo in my mind: “I’m sorry, however you’re out-of-date.”

Obsolete. In my 40’s. With a home mortgage, a vehicle settlement, and a 17 -year-old boy who checks out me like I’m his superhero.

The Freefall

The following few months were a blur of rejection e-mails and dwindling cost savings. Each day, I ‘d sit at my computer system, fingers floating over the key-board, muscle memory aching to code. However there was nothing to code. No projects. No difficulties. No objective.