Fortunately or otherwise, we are not in charge of where our lives will take us or we'd all have become firemen. Time and time again, the fickle finger of fate intervenes. If you're old enough to remember Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-In, you will have had that fickle finger pointed at you many times since.
I was reminded of this when in recent years I tracked down people I had worked for (since I name no names, no names have been changed). One had been a leading light in the budding Australian computer industry and worth millions of dollars. By the time I caught up with him, he was holed up in the Caribbean which was just as well because, had he been here still, he would not even have been able to pay for his heating bill.
I suggested he apply for the Australian pension which he could only do from inside Australia, and so he scraped together the airfare (I felt so sorry for him, I almost paid it myself), applied and after some time was granted it, after which he returned to his hidey-hole in the Caribbean.
Another ex-boss for whom I worked just after I'd come back to Australia in 1985, was worth several millions then. Today, after the taxman and a couple of ex-wives had finished with him, he seasonally supplements his pension by working as a Santa Claus in department store promotions.
A former colleague, with a wife and two kids and two mortgages, who used to run his own accounting practice, now lives alone in a low-rent bedsitter. At the end of each lease, he moves on in an attempt to stay ahead of the next rent increase. He says he's happy, and I believe him.
I've been rich and I've been poor, and, on the whole, rich is better, but I do keep both eyes on that fickle finger of fate ...
