Nobody talks about this one.
It doesn’t have a name yet. But every man who has lived long enough knows exactly what it is the moment you say it out loud.
The Law of a Man.
Not the law of the land. Not the law of the institution. Not the law of the book or the policy or the handbook.
The law that governs what a man is owed after a lifetime of being governed by everyone else.
It starts before you can walk.
Your parents tell you when to sleep. When to eat. What to say. What not to say. Where to go. Why you can’t.
You don’t question it. You’re a child. That’s how it’s supposed to work.
Then school takes the baton.
Different building. Same authority. Sit here. Do this. Don’t do that. Raise your hand. Wait your turn. Conform to the standard we’ve decided applies to everyone regardless of who you actually are.
You don’t question it. You’re a student. That’s how it’s supposed to work.
Then the military takes the baton.
And if you’ve been in you know there is no authority on earth quite like that one.
Total. Complete. Your body. Your time. Your movement. Your voice. All of it under command every hour of every day until they say otherwise.
You don’t question it. You’re a soldier. That’s how it’s supposed to work.
Then the employer takes the baton.
Show up here. At this time. Do this job. Follow these rules. Meet these numbers. Wear this face. Say these things. Don’t say those things. Your time is ours from this hour to that one five days a week until we decide otherwise.
You don’t question it. You need the work. That’s how it’s supposed to work.
And running underneath all of it the whole time — government. Taxes. Regulations. Requirements. Laws written by people you never met governing things you never agreed to applied to your life without your input.
You don’t question it. That’s just how it is. That’s how it’s supposed to work.
Now add it up.
From birth to retirement a man spends his entire life inside someone else’s authority.
The baton never drops. It just gets handed from one set of hands to the next.
Seamlessly. Without ceremony. Without acknowledgment of what it costs to live that way for sixty years.
Retirement was supposed to be different.
That was the promise. Spoken or unspoken.
You give us your time. You follow our rules. You submit to our authority for the working years of your life.
And when it’s done — when the last shift ends and the last punch is clocked — what remains is yours.
Your time. Your schedule. Your pace. Your choices. Your reasons. Your way.
That was the deal.
But the system forgot to tell the rest of the world.
Because retirement doesn’t come with a ceremony where every authority that governed you stands up and says —
He’s done. He’s served. He’s earned what comes next. Leave him to it.
No.
The expectations follow you home. The social standards don’t retire. The comparisons don’t retire. And sometimes — not always, but sometimes — the domestic authority steps into the space the employer vacated.
Different voice. Same baton.
Here is what I know at 72.
I have been a son. A student. A soldier. An employee. A father. A husband.
I have submitted to every authority this life lined up in front of me.
I did it because that’s what you do. Because that’s how it’s supposed to work. Because the alternative was to walk away from things that mattered.
But I am done apologizing for who I am at this late hour.
The way I sleep. The way I work. The hours I keep. The habits I’ve carried for seven decades that are mine and nobody else’s.
I get up at 4 am because that’s when my mind opens.
I work the way I work because that’s the way that works.
I do things in my own order at my own pace for my own reasons and I don’t owe anyone an explanation for that.
Not anymore.
That is the Law of a Man.
Not written anywhere. Not enforced by any court. Not protected by any institution.
But real.
As real as anything that’s ever governed a life.
It says this —
A man who has submitted to every authority this world placed in front of him has earned the right to the remaining time.
All of it. On his own terms. Without explanation. Without apology. Without someone standing over him measuring his habits against a standard he never agreed to.
That time is not a gift. It is not a privilege. It is not something granted by the next authority in line.
It is owed.
Earned. Dollar for dollar. Year for year. Submission for submission.
The world will not carve it in stone for you.
So I’m carving it here.
When a man has given everything the authorities asked for —
His obedience as a child. His discipline as a student. His body as a soldier. His time as a worker. His compliance as a citizen.
What remains belongs to him.
Not to the next person with an opinion about how he should be spending it.
Not to the next standard he doesn’t measure up to.
Not to the next authority that forgot the baton was supposed to be put down.
To him.
Full stop.
That’s the Law of a Man.
And it’s about time somebody said it out loud.
A New Category: “AI Baseline Governance”
“Intelligent People Assume Nothing” | Michael S Faust Sr. | Substack
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