The End Of My Third Company And A Feral Leap Into The Unknown

What do you do when you realize your company is coming to a dead end? Let go, Luke!

Cracks Are Showing

It’s about 1990 when I hit the wall with XenTec Software Engineering—my third company, started back in ’86, and the moment I saw the end was near. We’d been running strong—five employees, mid-size tech by Hawaii standards, the biggest SCO Xenix reseller in the state, solid clients, good profits and maintenance contracts Everything looked great, but all’s not well in paradise. See, XenTec’s a three-way partnership—me, Marcus, and Danny—and that’s the problem: no one’s in charge. We’re just three guys doing our own thing, splitting the cash, with no clear direction—weak leadership by definition. Marcus and I aren’t getting along; I don’t see him pulling his weight. Maybe it’s my ego talking, maybe I’m wrong, but that clash, plus the leadership mess, is eating me alive.

Tensions Are Building

I’m the feral entrepreneur, though—I don’t sit still when things are off. So I grab Danny, my best buddy and co-founder, for a private meeting. We’ve been tight since MicroWares days, and he’s classic local Japanese with the samurai spirit; and my sensei about local Hawaii culture. We agree: XenTec needs a boss. We decide it’s got to be me leading, so we hatch a plan. We’re going to call a meeting with Marcus, raise the issue, and vote me in as leader—Danny’s on board, and I figure it’s a lock.

The Meeting In the Smoke-Filled Room

The meeting is at XenTec’s offices on Kapiolani Boulevard, right next to Yanagi Sushi—funny thing, we've been there for years and I never once ate there (and still haven’t to this day btw). Our office is a decent spot—three rooms: a main one with five full-size desks, three on the left, two on the right, plenty of space for our crew. There’s a work room with two six-foot tables, perfect for tearing down computers or setting up systems. And a tiny utility closet—files, fax machines, phone stuff crammed in. It’s late ’80s, early ’90s vibes—Danny’s smoking at his desk with me bumming the occasional cig, ashtrays everywhere, a smoke-filled guy’s office, not filthy but lived-in, computers humming, men grinding late. We pick an off-hours time, just the three of us—no other employees around.

The Script Flips

The meeting’s short but heats up fast—I can’t hide my frustration with Marcus, and it shows. We’re laying this on him cold: XenTec needs a leader. He hasn’t been chewing on this like Danny and I have, so we pitch it—Danny backs me up, saying we need direction. Marcus comes around, sees the sense in it, but here’s the twist: he doesn’t want me leading. Maybe he’s got the same beef with me, maybe I’m too cocky for him—wouldn’t shock me. So he says, “We need a leader and my vote goes to Danny!” Danny’s caught off guard, but he rolls with it—he accepts Marcus’s vote and then Danny decides to cast his vote for himself, instead of for me as we have previously planned. What the actual eff! Those two votes make Danny the leader now. Our previous plan is toast, burnt-to-a-crisp toast. I don’t fight it—take it as it is, even make it unanimous ‘cause arguing is pointless.

The Big Dead End Ah Ha Moment

Before that meeting, I’d felt good—Danny and I were synced, ready to fix this leadership hole, both thinking I’m the best pick. Then Marcus flips the script, and I get why—he’s dodging me. But Danny? He betrays me, jumping on the chance. I can’t blame him much, but it stings—dude, this wasn’t the deal! I don’t even bring up the betrayal with him afterwards—not even to this day —unless he’s reading this now. I’m not mad, just disappointed, and then it hits me, this giant “aha”: XenTec will never grow big. Danny’s great, my best friend, but not a leader. Marcus? He’s peaked, not stepping up more. With Marcus crossing me and Danny putting himself first, I see it clear—XenTec is hitting a dead end. Right then, I know I’m selling my shares—not rashly, not that day, but the decision’s made. I’d do the legal move in about a year—another tale for later—but mentally, I’m out.

If You’re Not Growing, You’re Dying

XenTec was at a crossroads—we’d grown decent for Hawaii, but we’re maxed out organizationally. We either grow or stall, and I do believe it is true that if you’re not growing, you’re dying. That meeting shows me we’re heading for death. My choice is stark: stagnate with ‘em or move on. I’m a feral entrepreneur—I don’t stagnate, I don’t accept death. I’m going to greener pastures, no attachment, like Yoda says—”Attachment is forbidden!” and "Train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose." If it can’t be fixed, I’m gone, and that’s what I decide to do—the feral move.

My Feral Instinct Was Right

I saw that XenTec wasn't working, and I would be fighting a losing battle—so I dropped it and moved on. Now it’s 2025, I’m 62, looking back to 1990, and can see this a consistent feral pattern across seven startups. You build it, max it out, and when it’s done—when fixing it ain’t worth it—you sell at peak and jump to the Next Big Thing. Feral entrepreneurs roll that way. After I sold out in ’91, XenTec went bust a few years later—proof I was right. I was holding it together, should’ve led, but didn’t, and leaving was smart—they tanked. I’m glad it went down like this, ‘cause if Danny had stuck to the plan and let me lead the company, I’d have been stuck there and missed starting CyberCom in ’94 - which was orders of magnitude bigger.

No Attachment. No Fear. Trust The Path

Here’s a feral entrepreneur’s code—when it’s broke and not worth fixing, drop it and move on. Don’t fear big changes, don’t get attached, have no freaking fear—trust yourself, your future, your skills, trust you’re riding the divine flow. I’ll dig more into that later, but that’s the feral way, and it’s carried me through every leap for my whole life.