After Paris, I Left Engineering For Good

I read all the books I had always wanted to read but never had time to do. It was a glorious Spring and Summer of catching up on the literary classics, of enriching my mind, my soul, my whole being.

“I was originally supposed to become an engineer but the thought of having to expend my creative energy on things that make practical everyday life even more refined, with a loathsome capital gain as the goal, was unbearable to me.”

―Albert Einstein, The Ultimate Quotable Einstein (2010)

A night shot of Place du Tertre in Montmartre, a major tourist attraction, a square in the 18th arrondissement of Paris. Photo from Wikipedia

It was Monday February 15, 1993, a day after Valentine’s Day. I had just returned to Montréal from another 10-day business trip and conference in Paris, France. I was tired, jet lagged, yet also determined and a little inspired in what I had decided to do that Sunday. The trip to Paris, the restaurants, the sights—including to the artistic Montmartre, a quartier in the 18 arrondissement—all contributed in some way to my decision. It was as if I had awoken from a state of somnambulism, a long sleepwalking event or dream, some trance, which I until then was not aware that I was under. I was, after all, doing what was expected, and I did so dutifully, and often quite exceptionally, I might add. But now that I was awake, I had no choice but to do what I did.

I walked in to my boss’s office early on Monday morning and dropped a letter of resignation on his desk. It was short, professional and to the point. I stood there as Bob read it. Bob was a great boss, and we had an excellent working and personal relationship. I was unmarried then and Bob’s wife often made homemade bread for me. It was delicious, as hot-from-the-oven bread often is.

Bob looked up and said the expected. “Are you sure? Is there anything that we can do? Do you want to talk about it.”

As I said, Bob was a great boss. I told him that I was certain in my decision, that I was not seeking any of the perks that a professional career enabled, such as more money, more power and more benefits. I had enough money, since I was then single and living rather simply; I was the head of a small team, who I enjoyed working with; and I did not want more benefits that such a professional life was offering, and which I eagerly took for about 10 years.

What appeared spontaneous to outsiders, to family, friends and co-workers was an idea that I had been ruminating about for at least a year. But probably close to two years to a period right after what is often called The Gulf War [1990-91], with its two phases, Operation Desert Shield and Operation Desert Storm. As you might imagine, there was an urgent needs for arms, weapons, missiles, rockets, attack helicopters and whatever the American Defense Industry said was necessary to fight or pursue this war. I distinctly remember the pressure was intense, especially on ramping up production for components for the Patriot Missile, which was initially designed in the 1970s as an anti-aircraft missile, but repurposed and re-modified to shoot down ballistic missiles. There was great fanfare on the performance of the Patriot system during the Gulf war and its high-performance ability (80+%) to shoot down Iraqi Scuds, but later analysis showed it to be much corporate hype. I am not sure, but this might still be the case.

The Patriot Missile System (MIM-104) was deployed during Operation Desert Storm. Photo Kari Hawkins, AMCOM; Army Technology

But this information (or lack thereof) was not known in the beginning of January 1991. The company I was working for supplied parts to the principal subcontractor for the Patriot Missile System, Martin Marietta; its purchasing agents called incessantly for us to increase production and deliver parts as soon as yesterday, as the old manufacturing joke goes. The Prime Contractor was Raytheon, which still exists as a major aerospace and defense company. (Note: Lockheed and Martin Marietta would later merge (in 1995) to form Lockheed Martin.) The problem is one of urgency multiplied many times.

This urgent scenario was repeated for every single defense company involved with the Gulf War for whom we were suppliers. It got so bad, so stressful, that I ended up in ER one night (my brother had to drive me), thinking I was having a heart attack. The ER doctor hooked me up to an EKG and after looking at it, said everything was normal. I somehow was wearing my Patriot Missile T-shirt under my dress shirt, which the doctor noted. He asked me of I was somehow involved with it. My reply was a curt, “Yeah.”

He wisely said to take a couple of days off and cut back on the coffee and caffeine in general. I protested I couldn’t. He said I should. I reluctantly called Bob early the next morning and explained what happened at the ER. Bob, being the great boss, said not to worry. That we were all under tremendous stress, and even so, he said I needed to take the time off. It was an order.

Well, I did, and because I was not working, I had time to think. I thought about the job, the war and how I was a small part of it. I thought about engineering school at McGill University, and how we spent a great deal of time solving differential equations (DE) and partial differential equations (PDE), took courses in thermodynamics, heat transfer, mechanics, mechanisms, and computer science, to name a few, but none of it mattered to my job as a sales supervisor.

The job, simply put, was heading a small team dedicated to selling and market custom-made military-grade aluminum metal castings, using the lost-wax process (also called investment castings), which were implemented into various defense systems around the world. The company that I worked for was a leading and well-known niche player in this business. There were at the time only a handful of companies globally that would be sent bidding packages on the biggest and most-lucrative projects. My job also entailed putting together competitive bids, on-site visits and follow-through on project delivery. It was hectic and involved an ability to keep track of too many things. There were many sleepless nights. Too many dreaming about work and deadlines.

You might say that this is normative, that is the price to pay for a professional career in our fast-paced world. So, why did I stay? There was, no doubt, a certain prestige in working for this company. It is true that I had an expense account, ate at fancy restaurants, travelled a lot and met many interesting and intelligent people. There is a lot more to the story, which would likely only be understood by someone working in the defense and aerospace industry. To put it mildly and succinctly, it is not an industry that invites a lot of social small talk or departures from traditional social norms. It is conservative and traditional; it is what it is and some people thrive in such an atmosphere, one that strives for perfection, because in engineering it could always be made better at a lower cost, and for higher profits. I felt that I was suffocating under such an environment, and the ER visit was a warning, a sign, a clarion call to better health.

This goes to the heart at what I was thinking at the time. My friends then were doctors, lawyers, teachers and social workers, mostly in what are called helping professions. And then there was me, who could not talk about my work, at least not in any detail. The question that hit me at the time was this: Do I want to do this for the rest of my life? I was at it for 10 years; I was 35. I wanted to follow my heart; my passion. I did and I can say that I have no regrets of that decision I made a little more than 30 years ago on Valentine’s Day 1993.

There was also the fact that engineering was not my first choice or love, so to speak; I chose it because I was proficient in math and physics and thought it a good choice to appease my father, make him happy and pleased. He wanted me to pursue a practical profession and mechanical engineering is as practical as it gets. He meant well, so I did engineering. It worked until I no longer wanted to continue. My father had died in 1980, when I was still in university, so he never saw me graduate. My father’s death from cancer at age 69 was a shock, to put it mildly, the details still vivid in my mind. But I had to live my own life, and not someone else’s.

I knew I had to make a change. It was time to open a new chapter in my life. On February 28, 1993, I mailed my application to Concordia University’s School of Journalism; it was the last day the application could be postmarked to be considered for the September 1993 academic class. I went through a writing test, an interview with three persons and in May 1993, I received, to my great surprise, my letter of acceptance. I was both nervous and overjoyed. That summer I read all the literary classics that I always wanted to read, because I was also pursuing a minor in English literature. I also started keeping a journal, which I found therapeutic at the time. I have continued to do for the last 30 years.

I remember the feeling when I walked into the classroom during Orientation Day in late August of that year. I was one of the older students, at 35, but I immediately felt at home. What might sound odd or strange is that I immediately took to the creative world of writing, reading and literary thinking, as if I was destined to be here. Some might think that my engineering education was wasted. I do not see it in that way. I see it complementing all the other educational paths I took, all the other ways of seeing and learning.

I am still learning. This step 30 years ago, a shift away from one way of thinking to another, was only the beginning of my journey of self-discovery and self-awareness. Yes, I entered a world where I truly belonged. It is where my soul has been nurtured and where I can freely be me, my whole enlivened self. It is where human creativity is appreciated and better synchronized with the natural world around us. It is where the search for beauty, truth and justice can take place. Life is not solely about the practical and the functional and the meeting of design parameters. Life is also filled with poetry, music, dance, beauty and wonder, such as when I hear the birds singing their hearts out in the morning.

So, yes, this decision was the right decision for me. I never had any doubts.

Merci et à bientôt.