“That’s how Internet marketers die,” I told Jack from GoDaddy technical support. “They get updated out of existence.” Three of my websites had disappeared. The email said my deadline to correct the problems was September 17. The date was November 5. To my credit, it was the same year, 2020.

My experience with required updates over the years is they often break something else. Like fixing a plumbing leak: you replace one fitting and another fails. So I might have accidentally deliberately ignored their messages, closing my eyes to deflect a devastating blow.

In 1994, I began using the Internet for business. That was the year of the Northridge, California, 6.7 earthquake. It was also the year the World Wide Web was born—the Internet we know today.

Some of my clients’ buildings were destroyed, some tossed like a mob boss looking for his dough. Driving in the Los Angeles area was sketchy, so I built an online portfolio to supplement faxing and overnight mail for my graphic design and marketing business.

Plus, I figured I could supplement my income into my eighties by promoting affiliate products online. I rocked and rolled with CompuServe and Netscape, ftp and embedded music. I promoted affiliate products and conference calls.

Till 2013. I’d morphed and kept up with Internet major changes every six months until an absence of half a year threw that latest entrepreneurial iteration onto the ropes. Rehabilitation looked like starting over. So I took a job. For six years.

After retiring almost a year and a half ago, I still couldn't sit at my desk in my home office. Even looking at it felt like work.

But on November 1, our 18th anniversary of living in this house, I needed a picture to post. A picture I could most quickly find on the house website. But the website was missing. I told my wife “‘The Kiva House dot com’ is gone. Next, even ‘Lin Ennis dot com’ could disappear.” Sure enough, I was gone.

While on hold for 37 minutes, I reread the email about removing huge files. Then I grabbed a duster and cleaned my office. When Jack answered, I explained I hadn’t touched those websites in two years, maybe 10 years, so how could this be my problem?

Evidently automatic online backups bloated the hosting servers and the company needed my commitment to pay attention going forward. I offered my firstborn, but sensing I have no children, Jack declined. Signing in blood is impractical on the Internet. Jack said he would handle problems on the backend if I would promise to be more attentive. He walked me through turning off all marketing emails from my host so that when they contact me, I know I need to do something.

That’s what led me to the realization that old Internet Marketers don’t die. We just get updated out of existence. Even in a sparkling dust free home-office.

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