Have you heard the idiom “the road to success”?
Ate Praxie once told me that skill is a passport—it can take you to a better tomorrow.
The problem is not having the passport.
The problem is knowing which airport to go to.
In the 1990s, skilled tradesmen like me were often shortchanged. Aside from my Nanay and Tatay, most parents of my generation believed success meant one thing only: study hard, earn a diploma, work for a big and stable company—or leave the country, by land or by sea. Education was preached as the key to success.
I do not disagree.
But education needed to be understood.
Education does not mean academia alone. Education is the lifelong process of learning—of developing skill, judgment, discipline, and humanity. It is a key, yes—but it is not the way.
The way is the road.
The road is where we place one foot in front of the other.
Success, metaphorically, is a place—a destination. And the road that leads to it is rarely straight. More often, it is long, tiring, winding, and lonely. Many people dream of traveling that road. Few actually take the journey.
Success has an address.
And because there is an address, there must be a way that leads to it. That is why there is a road to success.
That road is not private. It is open to anyone who dares to walk it.
But it is locked—and that is why a key is required.
For someone holding a college diploma, traveling that road can feel like riding a car on an open highway. Easier. Faster—at least at the beginning. But let’s be honest: not everyone in a car reaches the destination without trouble. Parking, for one, becomes a problem. And sometimes, the parking space is far from where you need to be.
You step out of the car and get asked:
Will you leave your degree behind to pick vegetables in Europe, or to assemble semiconductors in Taiwan?
I never loved the rat race.
I ran it twice anyway.
Once locally, as a production supervisor in a medium-sized export company manufacturing wooden products. And once abroad, in the Gulf, as an OFW. In both races, I stayed three years. In both, the work was related to woodworking.
In the Gulf, I entered as an “unskilled laborer.” Eventually, I became the head of the CNC department. Perhaps if I had no engineering background, I would never have learned to read G-codes on my own. Not a diploma, but just a pass in my case. Out there, nobody teaches you. Everyone is afraid of being surpassed.
But I am different.
I love to teach.
Every time I teach, I gain extra hands.
There is a map that leads to a place I call Fortune Street. If you have truly been there before, you can always return—unless you only tagged along with someone else, not knowing where you were going, or slept through the journey in the back seat.
If that is the case, finding your way back becomes difficult.
But for those who walked the road with care and honesty, they remember it. They remember where it bends, where it rises, where it steepens, and where it splits. Even when the road branches into ten directions, they know which one to take.
They don’t guess.
They remember.
Success has a map.
You can lose money and earn it again.
You can lose a business and rebuild it.
You can fall, fail, and still rise.
But when the fall comes late in life, time becomes the enemy. It is the only currency you cannot borrow, earn, or recover. And without time, even the clearest map becomes difficult to use.
That is the real cost of failure at old age—not ignorance, not weakness, but the absence of tomorrow. The road is still there. The map still works.
What changes are the odds
Originally published on Benjie's Bench - Measuring Life's lessons in Millimeters
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