I built a 40-year empire, then my industry died. Here’s how I’m starting over at 60

What happens when you are 50, 60, or 70 years old and the career you spent a lifetime building suddenly disappears? Maybe your company downsizes. Maybe technology makes your job obsolete. Artificial intelligence may change your profession. Or, as happened to me and thousands of others, a pandemic comes along and turns a successful business upside down. You have two choices. You can spend the rest of your life mourning the first act — or you can start writing the second. I wish I always chose the second. I don’t. Some mornings I wake up with a pit of unease in my stomach, mourning what was and wondering what comes next. But most days, I choose to keep moving. For over 40 years, I owned and operated radio and television stations and movie theaters. I still have my foot in those industries and have never lost interest in their importance to the markets they serve. There were good years and bad years, but I always thought there’d be another deal, another way forward. My focus was on smaller markets. It was a thrill to have the only eight-screen movie theater in town, or one of the most-watched TV stations or most-listened-to radio stations. No one could predict when life would return to normal. In many ways, it never did. When we emerged from the worst of the pandemic, the world had altered, and new technology was advancing ahead. Flipping on the TV, tuning in to your favorite radio station, or having dinner and a movie on Saturday night was no longer the only way to get information and entertainment. My industries — and many others — had changed. HOW TRUMP CAN STOP BIG LABOR FROM STEALING $100 MILLION FROM DISABLED CAREGIVERSSo what is one to do? What is the second act? In my case, writing turned into therapy. It is something I always enjoyed doing but never considered a profession. One published column led to another. At the same time, I began asking myself whether four decades of business experience might still have value to someone else. I am finding out it does. I don’t know where the road will lead. That is the uncomfortable part of a second act. There is no guarantee of applause at the end. But there is one guarantee: if you stop trying, there won’t be a second act at all. I haven’t completed my comeback, so I am not writing from the finish line. I am writing from the middle of it. William Pollack has spent four decades owning and operating local radio stations, television stations, and movie theaters.