I slipped a $20 bill inside the hardbound cover of my master’s thesis and slammed it shut.

“I will never write another technical document again,” I declared.

I probably even shook my fist at the sky. It was 1998; my hair was almost as big as the frames of my glasses. I was so sure I was done with this writing thing. The previous three years had been a brutal battle of passion versus willpower. I loved biomedical engineering but I hated the journey to my degree. Everyone I loved was far away in a time before cell phones had become common. I was the first person in my family to earn a college degree, my attempt at rewriting a troubled family history and definitely part of my motivation for growing and changing my trajectory.

If it hadn’t been for a compassionate advisor and graduate school team, I never would’ve finished. I loved and loathed my graduate studies. It was a paradox that spiraled me into depression but also pushed me past limits I’d set on myself. Recently, my personal coach reminded me the difference between motivation and willpower. Passion drives motivation, whereas willpower is a drive from inside you to finish something because it’s the right thing. 

My passion was dampened by the hard road. I dug deep for the willpower to finish because I was so determined to set a better future for myself and the family I envisioned having eventually. My grandfather always said that one experience in your journey will always lead you to being prepared for the next. That became my mantra and the seed for my flagging willpower.

Everything just felt so damn hard. 

But slamming that thesis shut felt good—almost as good as my certainty that I’d never have to write anything again.

Until one short year later, when I launched a business built on writing technical documents. Empirical Testing Corp., now Empirical Technologies, started as a single test frame and myself as the sole employee. I wanted to fill the gap I’d seen working for a major medical device company. Empirical filled a niche market segment, requiring a very specialized knowledge of mechanical testing, product development life cycle for orthopedic implants, understanding of the FDA medical device process, and expensive and highly technical equipment. 

It wasn’t an ideal business model, and it was a daunting task to convince the Small Business Association loan officer I could build a viable business with this very expensive test frame designed to break parts rather than build things. But my passion was reignited and my motivation to build my company was strong enough to weather decades of ups and downs. Earning that loan for my first test frame was the first experience on the journey that led me to lead a company that grew to over 25 employees and a global client base. That business just celebrated its 25th anniversary.

And although I no longer personally write those test reports, I’ve spent the past eight years writing this column. I co-authored a technical book with Brian McLaughlin and Empirical Technologies’ Director of Consulting Meredith Price Vanderbilt. As I finish this piece, I’m putting final touches on my last chapter in Wiley Publishing’s upcoming “Additive Manufacturing in Medical Devices,” to be published in early 2024.

So by now, I’m too good of a writer to use a cliché like “famous last words” or “never say never.”

But I still don’t think of myself as a writer. Anything I pen is part of my efforts to educate or inspire others. It’s also about pushing myself in new directions, challenging my limits, and learning something new. It’s kept me creative and expressive in an industry built on numbers and data. It’s connected me to people, projects, and opportunities all over the world, despite my youthful and naïve determination to never do it again. 

I also recognize the power of the paradox of that ridiculous declaration. I set myself up for a whole new level of success by failing to keep that silly vow. There have been moments of editorial turmoil when I feel that same level of frustration. The months when ideas haven’t come easily, when interview subjects changed their minds or ghosted me, and other times I just wanted to lay a 20-dollar bill on my keyboard and slam my laptop shut.

But those were all fleeting moments. The number of people who’ve reached out to me about a specific topic, challenged me to reconsider my words, or thanked me for some of my more vulnerable admissions have pushed me to grow in ways I never imagined I could.

This is my final submission to this magazine. I am so deeply grateful to editor-in-chief Sean Fenske and my most direct contact, associate editor Sam Brusco, for giving me the chance to eat the words of my younger self by printing my byline. Thanks also to Kerry McGinley, who is a writer by training and career choice, for polishing my ideas into AP style and collaborating with me on every column.

I recently posted on my LinkedIn account about living life fully and in the moment, because tomorrow is not guaranteed. I stand by these words and encourage each of you to explore that dream, go on that adventure, be grateful every day, and most of all—tell those who matter to you that you love them.

I deeply appreciate the value of my hard-fought journey from master’s thesis to mastering at least a few of my fears and some basic grammar as I’ve failed miserably to never write again. May you all find the perseverance and courage to power through the paradoxes that challenge your assumptions of who you are and what you’re capable of.