It might seem glamorous, but at what cost? Higher salaries are often seen as the ultimate goal—the key to freedom. In my experience, nothing could be further from the truth.

How It Started…

When I began my career, I was earning the U.S. average salary for 2012, around $38,000 per year. At the time, I thought I was rich—I felt rich. Growing up, my parents made sure my siblings and I were comfortable, but we weren’t wealthy by any stretch. We were a standard middle-class family, with my dad working full-time in a factory and my mom juggling part-time jobs to keep things running smoothly.

So, when I landed my first job out of college and could actually buy things for myself, I was thrilled. That job felt like a dream. I received regular salary increases, and eventually, I was making $75,000 a year. I felt on top of the world!

When I left that job, I was craving a new, exciting adventure—my previous role had started to feel stale. My next job offered a modest raise, bringing me closer to that elusive six-figure salary. I was working harder than ever, but I didn’t mind. I was learning so much—new tools, new processes, new challenges! I was promised large bonuses (that never materialized), but the chase kept me motivated.

Then came 2020—no need to explain that one. If you’re reading this, you know what happened. But something else happened, too: the tech market exploded. Just like the housing boom, you could land a tech job paying multiple six figures with barely an interview. Recruiters were in my DMs constantly—it was like Tinder, but for engineers. Thanks to a colleague I still admire and work with today, I became one of those “Tech Bros” you read about in 2021 and 2022.

I didn’t know what to do with myself. I’ve always known I’m talented, but I’d never had someone tell me, “You’re underpaid.” The sudden influx of income made me nervous. I immediately contacted a financial advisor to get my finances in order. Thanks to that boost in income—and the student loan interest pause—I became debt-free in less than a year.

I stayed in that high-paying job for years. The people were good, we had normal startup problems, but financially things were a bit shakey. People were nervous after several round of layoffs. I survived, but I had automated nearly my entire role. I was coasting…and then the next big opportunity came knocking. But this time, things would be completely different.

Sidebar

One thing to understand about me is that I take total ownership of the systems I work with. I learn them inside and out. I’ve been deeply influenced by the book Extreme Ownership by Jocko Willink, and its lessons have proven invaluable in my career. But this strength—what I’d call a humble brag—comes with a cost.

The Golden Handcuffs Curse

Enter the next high-paying job. I joined with big aspirations to help an organization transform its technology stack. That’s what they were paying me for, right? At first, I dealt with the typical “new guy trying to make his mark” challenges. I pushed in areas others thought I shouldn’t. I got countless warnings to “not rock the boat.” I didn’t get it—some organizations just don’t want to change, no matter what they say.

But I pressed on. I kept fighting. They were paying me a lot, so I felt I had to. I had some successes—I completed projects people said were impossible and trained employees who were resistant to change. I made a real impact on the organization and its people. But what did that success cost me?

Regular 16-hour days—up at 8 a.m., in bed by 2 a.m., then repeat. Daily calls at 11 p.m. to sync with our overseas team. A constant internal battle over fixing technical debt. Hours spent on the phone with people who talked a big game about change but never followed through—that was the most exhausting part.

I felt I had to earn that salary. They were paying me so much, I thought I had to do whatever it took. When friends and family told me, “Hey, that’s not normal,” I’d always respond, “When you get paid this much, the expectations are different.” That was complete nonsense. Nothing about the situation was normal, but I was too blinded by the money to see it.

The Lesson Learned…

That job made me miserable—and it made my family miserable, too. I was always thinking about work, talking about work, doing work. My family suffered just as much as I did. I was taking phone calls in the middle of dinners, during car rides, even in the middle of my adult soccer league. I’d miss cheering on the Bengals with my friends because I was glued to my laptop. Work consumed me, and while everyone else benefited from my efforts, I was left drained.

I went through all of this for a higher salary, and it made me miserable. That experience became a guiding principle for Williams Enterprises. I’ll always work hard for my clients, but I’m not chasing money at the expense of what matters most. Time with friends and family—like watching a Bengals game or taking my dog for a walk—is just as important. Freedom isn’t found in your salary; it’s found when your talents work for you, not against you.