I'm reminded of an old story from the American Civil War. You may have heard it; if so stop readng.
A southerner owned a farm in Virginia, near Manassas. In July of 1861, he was looking forward to harvesting a fine crop of corn. Then the Union and Confederate armies charged across his land to fight the First Battle of Bull Run, destroying all the corn and just about everything else.
Figuring this was the sort of thing that only happened to a man once in his lifetime, the farmer cleaned up the mess and, the following spring, planted some more crops. Then came the Second Battle of Bull Run, the armies again barged across his fields, and he practically went bankrupt.
At that point the farmer, whose name was McLean, decided it was time to take the hint. He sold his land, gathered his family, and moved west, far away from the war. He bought a house in Appomattox Court House. The Army of Northern Virginia surrendered to the Army of the Potomac in his parlor - and the Union officers made off with a bunch of his furniture.
Youth, talent, hard work, and enthusiasm are no match for old age and treachery.