You've got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em.

As a mature responsible adult, you try to make decisions that keep the delicate balance of sanity and pragmatism in check. The yin and the yang, the push-me pull-you of life. Not entirely convinced that I have finally achieved mature responsible adult status as I approach the big five-oh, I constantly struggle with day to day decisions that effect my ability to finally become an actual grown-up. Is it okay to wear to un-matching socks as long as your pants cover them up? Is it okay to roll through that stop sign as long as a cop isn't watching? Or is it okay to to pour beer into your cereal when you are out of milk? I know a friend who struggles with that last one on a daily basis. But I had to make a decision lately, one that would not just affect my "grown up kid" status, but one that could have actual ramifications for the future of my family. Do I quit my job, with it's steady, if not unreliable paycheck? Or do I stay, and compromise my morals, and future?

"Well, how bad could it be?" I hear you asking. Umm, in a word, bad. I found myself coming home daily, and when I say daily, I mean every single frickin' day, with tales of woe, that I would drape around my poor wife's neck like a anchor from the USS Ronald Reagan. My boss said this, my boss did that, he talked to me like I was a second grader, he asked me to lie about this, to turn a blind eye to that. It went on and on and on. And we're not talking about forgetting to sharpen a pencil or politely say hello to the harpy from hell that he just hired to run our company into the ground. Stuff that made me look like an asshole to our customers. To our vendors. And to our sub-contractors. Stuff that could have potentially life damaging consequences. But I am not going to get into the grimy little details of every little thing that turned my original vision of my boss as a savvy, cool-headed businessman, into one of a clueless, unethical liar.

I will share one intimate detail with you. Or maybe two. Yea, let's go with two. One of the first times I thought about finally quitting, was a moment that I am sure he doesn't even have the slightest memory of. One that stabbed me to my core, and one that he laughed off as another day in the office. It was like the first couple of weeks after the harpy from hell had walked into our little slice of heaven. I had questioned the ethical ramifications of a certain way we were doing business, and after he explained that this was the way people did business, the harpy said, "That's right I forgot. He (The Guitarman) has morals." And with that, they both shared a brief chuckle together. Not a laugh. Not a guffaw. Not even a chortle. Just the briefest of subtle insults to who I was and what I believed in. As I walked out of the office I thought to myself, "Are you fucking kidding me? I have been here two and a half years, and he and this snot nosed little brat find this funny?" It's one thing to have to put up with crap that you find morally objectionable. It's something else when a man you once respected, that signs your paychecks, mocks you for your beliefs.

Aside from my daily tales from the dark side that I struggled constantly with, the other thing that really turned me off was what I liked to call "the talk." Like your dad sitting you down and telling you how you messed up. Like being in the principals office and getting a slap on the wrist. Whenever I said something that he didn't agree with, I got "the talk." Whenever I made a suggestion that was in the best interest of the company, I got "the talk." If he didn't agree with me, out came "the talk." And no matter what my suggestion was, or how much it would improve efficiency, or how much money it saved the company, it would always end with some variation of, "Well, when you own your own company you can run it the way you want. But this is my company, and I will run it the way I want."

Well, he is free to do just that now. Without my interference. Without my suggestions. And without my help in any way shape or form. I will end the speculation for y'all. I finally had enough, and I quit. With no sure job to provide for my family, I finally said enough was enough, and I walked. I made the decision I had been dreading for months, and it was one I didn't think myself capable of making. A right decision based on principle, not paycheck. I really didn't think I had it in me, and I surprised even myself. But the final straw came just a week or so ago, when I had one too many of "the talks." I had pointed out an error the sales team had made, and in doing my diligence, maybe saved the company thousands of dollars from ordering and installing a key component in two upcoming jobs. Was I thanked for my discovery? Was I lauded for saving the company money? Umm, neither. Instead, I got, "the talk." You see, the harpy from hell, as she is so good at, went crying to the boss that I was questioning her vast cache of knowledge, an accumulation of 25 years on this planet. I was talked to like I was a little kid, and told not to lash out at everyone. In that one moment of clarity, that instance of "you've-got-to-be-fucking-kidding-me," my decision was made. It may prove to be the wisest thing I have ever done, or the stupidest. But I couldn't live with who I was becoming there, and to quote the timeless Jimmy Cliff, "I'd rather be a free man in my grave, than living as a puppet or a slave." At least I'll sleep better at night.