The Mindset

by Ace Bowers

  The time I spent inside Google ultimately gave rise to two new valuable perspectives. I learned to spot truly intelligent and helpful people in a crowd, and I came to appreciate humble intelligence. In Silicon Valley, smart people are common, but it’s the ones with humility to look out for—they are exceedingly rare, but unbelievably valuable. After reflecting on my years at Google, I realized that it’s not the products, the free meals, or the perks that were important. Ultimately, it’s the people you work with everyday who matter. The skills I would acquire and the knowledge I would consume encompass some of the most beneficial things I’ve learned throughout my career. I’m grateful for my time at Google; I literally worked side by side with some of the most brilliant people in the world. Everyone I worked with had that fancy education I had dreamed of, from universities I never had a chance to attend. But collaborating with these brilliant employees felt as though I had attended a Harvard, a Brown, or a Yale myself.

  I wasn’t quite a millionaire yet, but I was well on my way. I continued making millionaire moves, and never became comfortable with what I was earning, comfortable as my salary may have been. Yuka and I sold our first house for around $500,000. With our household income, I could get a loan from the bank for around $600,000. This gave me the purchasing power of roughly a million dollars to buy a home. Now, I could have bought a few properties outside Silicon Valley, or a million dollar home within Silicon Valley. If I bought multiple homes, I could live in one and rent the others for additional income, but after a lot of research, and following my gut instinct, I purchased a home near the new Apple headquarters in Cupertino. Even though I had paid a million dollars for that home, it turned out to be the best investment I had ever made.

  During my six-year tenure at Google, I left for one year to work at a cybersecurity startup company in Cupertino called Bromium Inc. They offered me more than what I was currently making, namely a salary of $100,000 per year. This marked the first time in my life that I had ever earned a six-figure income, and the feeling that came with it was monumental! Working at Bromium came with unbelievable perks: I was even lucky enough to meet Robert Herjavec—yes, that same one from Shark Tank and a big investor in the company. I still own equity in that startup. I have thousands of shares; if they ever go public or are acquired, I’ll receive a payout. The accumulation of my passive wealth from real estate and stocks, combined with my salary made my net worth a little over a million dollars. At just 28 years old, I became worth a million dollars. Five years prior, I had been making minimum wage as a janitor.

  I remained at the startup for a little over a year, until my previous boss at Google contacted me to be his right-hand Senior QA manager for a new startup embedded within the firm. He needed someone like me for the startup, and offered me a salary of $125,000 annually, plus bonuses and equity. I jumped at the offer and worked at this company for about two years until it was acquired by a large investment firm in 2017. Once the acquisition was complete, I received a check in the mail for all of my shares of stock. With my million-dollar acquisition just four years earlier, and combined with all my new investments, stocks, and real estate, this profit effectively doubled my net worth. I was now a multi-millionaire at 32 years old.

  Chapter 6

  My Rock

  (Kokoro no sasae)

  When people think about falling in love, they often assume they’re looking for their soulmate. There’s nothing wrong with that, but soulmate has a fairytale-like connotation that can be hard to live up to, especially when the reality of life knocks you down. Sometimes people refer to their spouse or mate as their partner, better half, or companion. I think partner is the operative term, because the very definition of partner is teammate. When you’re going through all the challenges of life, it is a far lighter load to take on when you have someone to share it with. I refer to my wife as my rock, or in Japanese, kokoro no sasae.

  As I mentioned before, I was at a very low point in my life when I met my future wife. I had nothing to offer her but my love. She saw past my current situation—my state as a minimum wage janitor, utterly unestablished, and very much in debt. She had to have known life with me would not be glamorous or easy, but she still took a chance and loved me. That spoke volumes to me about her character. I felt safe enough to fully trust her.

  Yuka had a very different upbringing from me. She lived a typical, sheltered childhood; growing up, her focus was 100% academic. She wasn’t forced to grow up and mature as quickly as I had been; she hadn’t witnessed abuse or lived in poverty. Her parents were very concerned with her education and as a result, Yuka was always the star pupil with the best grades. When I met her, she was earning her degree in biology and chemistry. It’s a miracle she even considered loving a guy with no formal education and enough emotional baggage to fill an airport. She always listened as I told her about everything from my past. Clearly it didn’t scare her off, because we’re still happily married to this day!

  I look back and wish I could have offered Yuka a special wedding and filled her day with all the things little girls dream about when they get married, but we just couldn’t afford it. Though she never expressed that she wanted a fairytale wedding—with a beautiful venue, matchless dress, and everything else to make it grand and unforgettable—in my heart, I know it’s what she deserved. I wanted her parents to be there, but they were an ocean away. I thought to myself that we should at least share this special day with some family. I remember calling my mom a week before we got married and asking her and my dad to please drive up to Oregon. It was a six-hour drive from their house.

  I really wanted them to be there when we were married. I wanted them to meet my new wife and their future daughter-in-law. For goodness sakes, she was carrying their grandchild! They told me that they didn’t have the gas money to drive up there, that my dad couldn't afford to take a day off from work. I was sad, but I had come to expect these kinds of let downs in my life—this was nothing new to me. I compartmentalized this news like I did with every other disappointing or painful thing in my life, and moved on.

  No matter what, I couldn’t let my frustrated or saddened demeanor reflect onto Yuka; I worried she was witnessing firsthand the disappointments I had been through. I mean, what kind of family misses their own son’s wedding? It didn’t seem to bother her because she never said anything to me about it, ever. Thankfully, when Yuka did meet my parents for the first time as we unpacked our U-Haul back in California, they hit it off. My dad often tells me that she’s his favorite person in the entire family. It could be because they share a very similar style of thinking, but I never really could figure out why they got along so well! Needless to say, he loves Yuka and she adores him right back.

  Her personality is very even-keel and stable. This chapter is titled “My Rock” because, against all odds, Yuka remains unbelievably calm and balanced. Just like her daughter, she tells it like it is. And growing up as reserved as I did, where every battle and every issue was internal, her resolution to be so honest about her feelings was like a breath of fresh air. I was attracted to that because I didn’t know what was missing from my life before I met her was this truthfulness, this sense of balance. She was so unlike my mother, the other female role model in my life. To see a woman so self-sufficient, so hardworking and so easy-going was unbelievably uplifting.

  Yuka is an irreplaceable force in my life, and from the moment we met, what she has done for me has been nothing short of incredible. Life for us in the beginning was far from ideal. The deck was stacked against us, but she never wavered in her love for me, and more importantly, she never lost faith in me. My deep love and respect for her is ingrained in the fact that she has taken each leap of faith with me, hand in hand. I was like her box of chocolates: she had no idea what she was getting into, and still, she remained by my side. Her even-keeled nature and calm spirit would steady my rockiest days; I somehow knew I wouldn’t fail, because I could feel her supportive spirit right beside me. Knowing she had the confidence
in my ability to support us and our family carried me through some of the hardest times as a man trying to find his way. I wanted to succeed. Not for me, but for our kids. For her.

  I remember that after Noah was born, all I wanted to do was stay by Yuka’s side at the hospital. For a change, I wanted to show my love and support for her. But being the kind-hearted person she is, she was more worried about me going home to get some sleep, knowing I couldn’t sleep anywhere but my own bed. I thought to myself, this woman just gave birth to our son and she’s worried about me!

  Now, before I have you gushing about Yuka and thinking she’s this soft, sweet and oh-so fragile little woman… let me tell you about the birth of our second child. She woke me up at 3 a.m. and we rushed out to the hospital. I dropped her off at the entrance and hurried off to find a parking spot. In the short span of time it had taken me to park the car, run into the hospital, and find the room, Yuka had already given birth to our daughter. No epidural, no doctor, and no one by her side, just Yuka and her determination. We left the hospital a day later, Yuka marching out, her newborn daughter in one arm and her bags in the other. I thought to myself, my wife is a legit badass! (And then I rushed over to help her carry everything).

  Yuka loves to cook and she’s fantastic at it. I always joke and tell her that the only reason I married her was for her cooking. She likes to tease me with the notion that I was like a lost puppy when she found me. The truth is, I married her because I had never met someone as resilient, as truthful, as steady, as Yuka.

  Chapter 7

  Band of Brothers

  A tale of two roads

  This chapter is dedicated to my closest friends, Anthony and Abe. They are my best friends, but more than that, they were the brothers I never had. They helped fill the hole in my heart left by my real brother who was never there. “Band of Brothers,” the title of this chapter, is a play on words because I consider these guys family, but more than that, you may recognize this title from the 2001 HBO series. I bonded with both of them individually, over one TV show, and our friendships felt so special. Anthony introduced me to the show when we were teenagers, and we watched it together. He used to tell me that if he ever went to battle, he wanted me by his side in the foxhole because he knew I’d always have his back. It meant the world to me that someone trusted and thought of me like that.

  A few years later, I shared Band of Brothers with Abe because of his love of the military. He had just returned from Texas where he was attending a military academy. We were around eighteen and had been contemplating joining the military. Even though I went to the recruiter’s office and took the exam, it was Abe who ultimately enlisted, conveying that he had joined for both of us. To this day, this sentiment touches my heart. That’s probably why he is Noah’s godfather.

  Let me slow down and back up; I want to share with you how special and different each of these guys were to me in my life. I met both of them in junior high school. Anthony and I were the same age and Abe was a year younger. While Abe and Anthony were my best friends, they weren’t friends with each other. They were acquainted but hung out in completely different circles. Fortunately, I had a crossover personality, where I could fit in with anyone, so I just happened to be in each of their circles.

  Let me first tell you about Anthony. Everybody chooses a bad path in life at some point: a bad decision, a temporary lapse in judgment, or a bout of depression. Most of us find our way back, but there are those who can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. They have so much potential but for one reason or another, can’t stop themselves from going down the wrong path, until it becomes so familiar, they can’t escape. Unfortunately, this happened to Anthony.

  Anthony was the very first friend I made when we moved to Cupertino; he lived just down the street from me. He had a big heart and a larger-than-life personality. We shared a love for skateboarding, always had great conversations, and spent much of our time together. Anthony was the type of friend you could tell anything to and know with absolute certainty that he would listen, and never judge. He was one of the few friends I had where I felt completely comfortable sharing some of what I so often kept hidden behind my walls. Needless to say, we had been through some challenges together. His parents were divorced; I was there for him if he needed to talk, and he was there for me. It was hard for me to open up when I was younger, though given the imbalance and hardships I faced alone at home, I should have reached out more. One day, while spending the night at Anthony’s house, I was inexplicably overwhelmed with sudden dread, panic, and the unspeakable need to escape. Panic set in. It was a full blown anxiety attack, my very first one. He saw me through that.

  I was sixteen years old when 9/11 happened. I remember waking up to my phone ringing: it was Anthony calling to tell me that we had just been attacked. He said “Ace, man, wake up and turn on your TV!” And we sat there, each of us holding the phone, watching in silence. I gave him a ride to school like I did most days, and that morning, we did what we always did: had one of our deep talks. The focus that morning had shifted to current events and his aunt who worked at the World Trade Center. We contemplated both joining the military and how we would be supportive of one another if we went. It was a somber ride to school, two teenagers talking about innocent people dying.

  We remained close throughout high school, though our paths grew further apart, and we later separated into different groups. Sadly, Anthony would eventually make the mistake of getting into drugs. Though many high schoolers smoked pot (even I had tried it a few times, but stayed uninterested), he quickly outgrew marijuana. He surrounded himself with the druggie crowd, and I had to watch as he fell deeper down a rabbit hole, chasing one high after the next. Mushrooms, acid, cocaine and ecstasy; he cycled through them all.

  In spite of everything, I still cared for him. We still hung out on occasion. One evening in particular, I was invited over while Anthony’s mom was out of town for a gathering. I remember things quickly getting out of hand as more guests showed up than Anthony’s sister had planned on inviting. A group of guys (about a dozen) showed up, and Anthony wanted them to leave. But these guys wouldn’t leave, and none of Anthony’s friends volunteered to usher them out, except for me. “I’ll go with you,” I told him as I grabbed a baseball bat, “if we go down, we go down swinging.” And so, together, we escorted those guys out. The baseball bat must have been a great diversion, because we didn’t have to use it once that night.

  Somehow, no matter the size of the crowd we were with, it felt like it was always just Anthony and me. We shared a deep friendship, and we were always enough for one another. Out of all my friends, I connected with Anthony on the deepest level. We always had insightful conversations, and even shared a little spot in the woods where we’d hang out and smoke. One day, he and I were talking about a kid in our class who had everything handed to him and who probably wouldn’t have to work a day in his life. I remember Anthony telling me he wished he were a rich kid. I knew I’d never be a rich kid, so I told him I’d rather be a rich dad. Little did I know how profound this offhand comment would become later in my life.

  After graduating high school in 2003, we stayed in touch, but after I moved to Oregon in 2006, we lost contact. Towards the end of 2007, when I had moved back to California with Yuka, Anthony called me out of the blue—I hadn’t even told him I was back in the state yet. He needed me to pick him up from the hospital and he had no one else to call. I raced over to get him. As he entered my car, he revealed that he had been admitted into the hospital for overdosing. He had been to a party the night before, and he suspected someone had spiked his drink with meth. My heart sank. I knew Anthony; I knew he would have taken the drugs willingly. But his explanation didn’t matter to me, because I would always be there for him. On the drive to his mom’s house, I stopped at a gas station and bought him a pack of cigarettes. It was in that moment, I realized we had taken completely different paths in life. It broke my heart, and although I didn’t approve of his choice
s, I still loved him like a brother.

  After that day, we wouldn’t talk again for another four years, but I often wondered about him, and would talk to Yuka about it. She always encouraged me to check on him and advised me that if I didn’t, I’d regret it. She always knew what was best for me, though it would be another few years before I followed this advice.

  It was around 2011 that I ran into a mutual friend from high school at a local grocery store. We were catching up and he gave me some upsetting news about my best friend. He told me how Anthony had lost his job as an auto mechanic and had become completely addicted to drugs. He was now homeless and stealing from friends who would let him crash on their couch. I was devastated. I confided in Yuka, who once again encouraged me to reach out to him. I finally called him the next day to ask if I could see him. Anthony hesitated; he didn’t want me to see him like that. I think he knew his life was slipping away, because he told me he was in bad shape. “I’m really bad, Ace man,” he confided. Two days later, I was able see him. I couldn’t even recognize him as the chubby kid I had once known—he was gaunt, but worst of all, he looked as though he had given up.

  We sat and talked on the sidewalk curb outside the apartment he was staying at, and what followed was Anthony telling me how he’d reached this point in his life. He had been working as an auto mechanic until he’d suffered an injury. The doctor had prescribed him painkillers, which I thought was incredibly reckless, seeing as Anthony was an addict. Always looking for his next high, I knew he had abused the medication. These prescriptions would become his new drug of choice, and he soon lost his job as a result. Coincidentally, this was around the same time his dad had committed suicide. Anthony shakily revealed that the news of his father, paired with losing his job and his injury, had sent him on a rapid downward spiral. He felt hopeless. I offered to help him in any way I could; if he’d just clean up his act, I could get him a job and do whatever it took to get him back on his feet. After I left him that night, he sent me an email.