Separating the Wheat from the Chaff: A Veteran's Perspective

 I started my tenure in high tech with a simple set of requirements: put food on the table, clothes on my back, a roof over my head, and a few dollars in the bank for a rainy day. Forty-five years later—spanning the rise of the PC, the collapse of industrial giants like Sun and GE, and the current "hoopla" of Generative AI—I have satisfied  those requirements.

But leaving high tech isn't just about walking away; it’s about sharing key insights from a veteran's perspective. In a world currently obsessed with the "How" (the faster chip, the smarter API, the next big exit), we are losing sight of the  "Why" to solve a  real-world requirement We are trading Precision for Hype, and Stewardship for a Mercenary Mindset.

The following blog posts are my attempt to separate the 'wheat" from the "chaff". My intention is to leave a frame of reference for the next generation of technical writers and architects who are currently being blinded by the "hoopla." Whether you are a veteran looking for an exit or a 25-year-old just starting down the path, these insights may be  the only "rainy day fund" that never devalues.

Key Insights:

• Part 1: The Industrial Ghost in the Consumer Machine– Why the hardware is just a pane of glass and why your "old" M1 might be more industrious than a "new" M5.
• Part 2: The API Trap and the Death of Precision – How the industry fell in love with "How" and forgot building for a "Why" to solve a  real-world requirement.
• Part 3: Escaping the Mercenary Mindset – The difference between building for a "Why" and building for an "Exit."
• Part 4: The Final Requirement – Knowing when you’re "Done" and why the 25-year-olds need your perspective more than they need your seat.

Welcome to the afterlife. Let's start separating the "wheat" from the "chaff".

The Hardware is Just a Pane of Glass

 In the 1980s, companies like Sun and IBM didn't build "gadgets"; they built infrastructure. When you document a power grid or a workstation meant to last 15 years, your "Why" is Stability. You learn that the hardware is a vessel, not a fashion statement (eg, the latest M5-powered MacBook Pro).

Today, the tech industry tries to convince you that the "How" (the newest chip, the integrated AI) is the magic. But as veterans, we know the truth: The hardware is just a pane of glass. By running the latest OS on "old" M1 hardware isn't being cheap. You are proving that the value lies in the synthesis of information, not the "typewriter" used

As a Tech Writer: Stop chasing the latest tool. Master the ability to make the tool irrelevant. If your work can't survive a hardware migration, it isn't "Wheat"; it’s "Chaff."

Why "How" is Taking Center Stage Over "Why"

 We are currently repeating the "API Hoopla" of the early 2000s, but with LLM prompts. Developers are enamored with the feat of integration—showing how "smart" they are by connecting a cloud brain to a UI.

But as GE learned with Predix, customers don't pay for "smart" demos; they pay for Results. In an Agile world, documentation has become a fragmented stream of "How-to" snippets that satisfy a Jira ticket but fail the user’s "Why."

Your job is not to describe the API. Your job is to be the Architect of the Requirement. If the AI generates a thousand pages of "slop," your role is to find the ten pages that prevent a catastrophic failure. Precision is the only thing that scales.

The Exit is a Liquidity Event, Not a Career

 The tech world is now populated by "Mercenaries" working for the "Vesting Date." This mindset creates Hollow Products—software built to be sold to a conglomerate, not to be used by a human. When you work for the "Exit," you sacrifice the "Why" of the user for the "Monetize" of the shareholder.

You may be asked to be the "Professional Asshole"—the one who does the work others won't touch. But there is another path: the Stewardship model. We stayed at our posts not for the stock options, but because we took pride in the structural integrity of the information.

Stock vests, but your reputation for Truth is the only "Rainy Day Fund" that never devalues. Don't be the person who writes the lie that sells the company; be the person who writes the truth that saves the user.

Am I Done Yet? The Ethics of the Open Seat

 There is a final stage in a high-tech career that no HR rep will ever explain: the moment you realize you have fulfilled your own requirements. When the roof is paid for and the rainy-day fund is full, the "Why" of your work must shift.

If you continue to grind for the same goals you had at 25, you are just "Stagnating" in a seat that a 25-year-old needs to find their own "Wheat." But "Done" doesn't mean "Finished." It means you are now free to be the Brake Inspector—the person who uses their 40 years of scars to tell the "Mercenaries" when they are driving the train off the tracks.

The 25-year-old doesn't need your seat. They need your perspective. They need to know that it's possible to spend 40 years in this industry and come out the other side with a clean conscience and a decoupled M1 Mac that still runs like a dream.

The Second Time Around (Postscript)

 I once actively pursued many pastimes when I was young : hiking in the Santa Cruz mountains; kayaking on Monterey Bay;  mountain biking to Mission Peak; or just reading a book while listening to my favorite jazz music.

Somehow , those  pastimes became less important as I began to focus my time and effort on  the daily grind of putting a roof over my head, food on the table, clothes on my back, and a few dollars in the bank for a rainy day.

The daily grind  became a 45-year "career" as a full-time employee and contractor in Silicon Valley: 17 jobs that lasted 6 months to 6 years (and  the 7 layoffs that lasted 3 to 11 months).

As a full-time employee, the daily grind consisted of constantly looking over my shoulder after being let go despite working long hours to meet tight deadlines.

As a contractor, the daily grind consisted of leaving without a trace after 6:00 pm since I was no longer obsessed with the golden handcuffs (eg, health insurance, 401(k) plan, or stock options) that shackled full-time employees to the notion of "job security".

The daily grind eventually came  to an end when I moved to a more leisurely (and more affordable) lifestyle in the Central Valley near Sacramento (see Nothing Personal, Just Business).

Friends and family have asked me what I’m doing now.  I simply reply that I'm on a "sabbatical". I don't bring work home with me. I don't unwind from the stress of 60 hour work weeks that made me dread Mondays. I'm not obsessed with layoffs that made me dread Wednesdays.

Today,  I focus my time and effort on dealing with peripheral neuropathy.

You see, my  life ha a a meaning, purpose, and plan. I just have to remember that it's not up to me to know (or understand) all of the details.

Three Rules (Epilogue)

I reflected on an article that states 20 years from now the only people who will remember that you worked late are your children. You see, I never took the time when I graduated from college to settle down, get married, and raise a family. Instead, I lived vicariously as a parental figure to my goddaughter Janelle (who still calls me Ninong), my nieces Lauren and Lacie (who still call me Uncle Joe), and my grandkids Deja, Dillon,  and Jayla (who still call me Tata Joe). 

I focused  my time on a “career” that consisted of 17 jobs since I graduated from college  (being employed anywhere from six months to six years). During that time, I survived 7 layoffs lasting anywhere from 3 to 11 months. I also worked as a contractor for three different companies in four years. Every time, I managed to put food on the table, clothes on my back, a roof over my head, and put a few dollars in the bank for a rainy day as I accepted that my “career” would often consist of looking for the next job.

So, I consider my biggest achievement is the time and attention that I devoted to my "babies". Through a lifetime of family gatherings  such as birthday parties and backyard barbecues, I loved each of them as though they were my own, doting on them and spoiling them for sure, but also ready with a stern word should the occasion arise. 

And when I got laid off for the first time in 1994, it gave me time to do more than just put food on the table, clothes on my back, and a roof over my head — it also gave me the chance to spend time with my goddaughter Janelle and recite my three rules for the first time: 

    • "Please and thank you."

    • "You have to listen." 

    • "You cannot always have your way."

Those rules served as a compass when that day eventually came, they could go to farther off places and I know they would be all right.

"Please and thank you” is a reminder to be respectful of others, and that “No” is a complete sentence (no reason needs to be given).

"You have to listen” is a reminder to consider others in your choices and be accountable to others for your actions.

"You cannot always have your way” is a reminder that if it is not possible for you to accept people, places, situations, or outcomes for what they are, then it is probably about “you” rather than about “them”.

When it came time, I let them go so they could close their eyes, dream big, open their eyes, and work hard to make their dreams come true. I only remind them that just as important as what they accomplish in their careers is the kind of person they become along the way.