I’ve told this story a few times, but I’ve never really told it the way I remember it.
This isn’t really a business story. There are plenty of people who can tell you about Global Trade Technologies, Bizbonds, Merrill Lynch, Cantor Fitzgerald, financing rounds, valuations and all the other things that make up a startup story.
This is about something much more personal.
For a brief moment in my life, the shares I owned in GTT had a paper value of around $180 million.
Let that number sink in.
$180 million.
I didn’t have $180 million in the bank. It wasn’t sitting in a brokerage account waiting for me to spend it. It was the implied value of my ownership in a company that was moving toward some very significant financing and strategic deals.
But psychologically, there is a strange thing that happens when a number like that appears next to your name.
You start thinking differently.
Not necessarily consciously. But you do.
You start thinking about houses, travel, retirement, your family, what you could give away, what you could build, what you could change.
You begin to imagine a future that wasn’t really yours yet.
Then came September 2001.
We had some very exciting things happening with GTT. Merrill Lynch was involved, and I had already met Stanley O’Neal (funny story here about me and not wearing neck ties). We were working through milestones and additional capital that could unlock subsequent tranches and valuations.
And we were working on another relationship that was particularly exciting to me.
Cantor Fitzgerald.
The idea was to get their bond inventory onto our Bizbonds platform so that Merrill Lynch and our other customers could access and trade that inventory.
I remember going to Cantor’s offices on September 8.
A few days later, my CEO and I were sitting in the Nashville airport.
We were watching television.
And then we watched the towers fall.
At that moment, nobody knew what the next few hours, much less the next few years, were going to look like.
We were supposed to be on our way to meet Howard Lutnick (now Trump’s economic advisor)
Instead, we sat there and watched the world change.
And somewhere in the middle of all of that, something else changed.
That $180 million disappeared.
Not because I spent it.
Not because I made a bad investment.
Not because somebody stole it.
It simply ceased to exist.
The deal environment changed. The markets changed. The world changed.
And my paper fortune went to essentially zero.
I remember the experience more than I remember the numbers.
One day you can look at a number and think, Wow. My life is about to be completely different.
And then, almost overnight, you realize that the number was never really yours.
That experience taught me something that I didn’t fully understand at the time.
Money can be real and unreal at exactly the same time.
The $180 million was real enough to change how people looked at the company.
It was real enough to change valuations.
It was real enough to create expectations.
But it wasn’t real enough to save me from September 11.
Looking back now, I see that period of my life differently.
I used to think I had lost $180 million.
Today, I’m not sure that’s the right way to describe it.
Maybe I was given a glimpse of what that kind of wealth could do to my life—and then it was taken away before it could become the center of it.
I’ve had other opportunities since then. Opportunities that could have made me considerably wealthier.
One of them involved the possibility of working with Bill Gates. I said NO. Period. That was in 1999.
Eventually I retired.
And over the years I’ve had enough time to think about the strange collection of events that brought me here.
I’ve had heart attacks beginning when I was young. I’ve had bypass surgery, numerous cardiac procedures, spine surgeries, Parkinson’s, DBS, and more close calls than I can count.
I’ve also had experiences I can’t explain medically or logically.
I’ve died three times.
Twice, when I came back, I heard the unmistakable voice that telling me:
“I’m not done with you yet.”
I don’t expect everyone to understand that.
But I do.
And when I look back at the $180 million, I sometimes wonder whether that wasn’t part of the same story.
Maybe God knew me better than I knew myself.
Maybe having that kind of money would have been wonderful.
Maybe it would have destroyed me.
Maybe it would have become the thing I worshipped instead of the God who gave me everything in the first place.
I don’t know.
What I do know is that I didn’t get to find out.
And today, I’m grateful.
I’ve had a pretty good life without the $180 million.
I’ve had a family.
I have a righteous woman who loves me and follows me on my adventures.
I’ve had adventures.
I’ve walked thousands of miles carrying a backpack.
I’ve built things.
I’ve taught people.
I’ve written.
I’ve worked with some incredibly talented people.
I’ve had opportunities most people never get.
And I’ve had the privilege of watching my daughter build a life of her own.
I’m still here.
I’m still hiking.
I’m still thinking about the future.
And, God willing, I’m planning another Appalachian Trail thru-hike in 2027.
So maybe I didn’t lose $180 million.
Maybe I lost the opportunity to become a very wealthy man.
And maybe that was exactly the point.
Because if God really wasn’t done with me yet, perhaps He needed me to learn that my worth was never going to be measured by the size of the number next to my name.
The money came.
The money went.
I’m still here.
And apparently, I’m not done yet.
#l0ngtermonthetrail













