In my last blog post, I bored my Dear Readers stroked my chinny chin chin, pondering whether, four years after FIREing, I’m now basically voluntarily unemployable for any demanding and/or full-time work even if I ever felt an inkling to get back in the/a game. Answer: Yep.
I rattled off a few explanations for my conclusion, including that post-FIREing life is pretty much all it’s cracked up to be. At least for me it is.
Lemme expound on that explanation.
Well, widget you know?!
When I’m on LinkedIn, a significant percentage of the posts in my feed say something like one of the following: (1) “So privileged to work with the amazing team at Widgets-R-Us in Dubuque, Iowa!”; (2) “So proud to be a speaker at the Widget Manufacturers Association Annual Meeting in Dubuque, Iowa!”; or (3) “So happy to be able to pursue my life’s passion of building widgets at Widgets-R-Us in Dubuque, Iowa!” I’m guessing that your LinkedIn feeds are the same.
(Side note: Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure Dubuque, Iowa is a nice place and all. And as a native Midwesterner, I’ve a soft spot in my heart for any place in the Midwest. But imma hazard a guess that in the long and rich history of Dubuque, Iowa, very few of the fine folks in that town have ever thought, “Yeah, there’s no place on Earth I’d rather be at this moment in time than Dubuque, Iowa. Nope. Not Aspen, Paris, Tahiti, the Himalayas, or any other place).
I suspect that some of those posts might well be wholly honest and true. For those posters, I tip my cap.
But I suspect just as well that many of those posts may not be wholly honest and true. Or mostly honest and true. Or even barely honest and true.
When I see those posts, I inevitably say to myself, “Really?! There are no people on earth you’d rather be with than the no-doubt good folks at Widgets-R-Us?! Not your family? Or best friends? And you’re in a state of nirvana attending the Widget Manufacturers Association Annual Meeting?! And you find piecing together widgets at Widgets-R-Us akin to a transcendental experience? And c’mon, being in Dubuque, Iowa is that great?!
Out of my mind
For me—and I kinda sorta liked my job well enough—there wasn’t one nanosecond during my full-time career that I thought, “Yessiree, there’s no moment in my life that’ll top this one. I’m in the most elevated state of bliss!”
In short, I’d always wish I was somewhere else. Doing something else. But, working for da’ man (“da’ man” later being me after I became self-employed) in a state of financial dependency, that weren’t gonna happen.
Post-FIREing, tho? Totally different story. The perfect example came last summer. I’d giddily accepted an invitation to join a group hike to happen on a random weekday. The weather the day of the hike was perfect. Soul-enriching. The hike was challenging. And loads of fun. Summitting was magnificent. And joyous. My hiking companions were wonderful. And incredible, accomplished people.
I thought then, and thinking back now, and can honestly say that there’s no place I’d rather have been than on that hike on that day. But for having FIREd, that hike all but certainly doesn’t happen.
Nor do dozens and dozens of other equally fantastic events I was able to participate in/things I was able to do. Events/Things that’d have allowed me to say, with all honesty and truth: (1) “So privileged to hike Mt. Superfunchallengingrewarding this Thursday with this amazing group of friends!”; (2) “So proud to be able to be present and help The Missus/Thing One (The Elder/Thing Two (The Younger)/my good friend [insert name here] during some random workday; or (3) “So happy to be able to pursue my life’s passion of mostly doing what I want when I want to!”
It’s a pretty good gig I’ve got going here.
True story
And here’s a funny thing that dovetails nicely with all this. I recently read FIRE-community influencer Jillian Johnsrud’s excellent book on miniretirements, Retire Often. I wish the book was around—and that I read it—when I was early in my full-time career. Woulda done me much good . . . assuming I then had the good sense to be open to hearing the lessons. Which I have my donuts about.
Anyhoo . . . this passage from the book really struck me: “You [the person taking the mini-retirement, but also the fully retired person] being unemployed makes people uncomfortable. Consciously or unconsciously, your friends, family, old coworkers, and professional network will be slightly uncomfortable knowing you are out there in the world. . . not working. Even if you provide no encouragement or guidance, they will try to pull you back into the workforce to ease their own discomfort.”
I’d never considered that. But in my experience, it’s true. And here’s the odd thing. Some (most?) of these people will be the ones disingenuously proclaiming on LinkedIn about their “amazing” widget-related times . . . in Dubuque, Iowa (sorry, Dubuque!). I guess it’s a case of misery-demandsloves-company.
I’ve sometimes considered posting on LinkedIn (or, less graciously, trolling people who write posts like the examples I cited above) about my superfun, random weekday, totally nonwork-related exploits. Or about having both control over my days and activities, and financial security to boot. I’ve not done so, but I’ve often wondered if such posts would positively jolt people, or at least move the needle for them to consider that maybe widgets, Widgets-R-Us, the Widget Manufacturers Association Annual Meeting, and Dubuque, Iowa (sorry again, Dubuque!) ain’t the suns around which they’ve been put on Earth to revolve.
Maybe one day I’ll do this. Tho given my experience, I suspect my efforts would be in vain. But it sure would be fun to find out if I’m wrong.
And in the end . . .
So, yeah, like I wrote, I’m unemployable in part because life post-FIREing really is (for me) all that. I wouldn’t voluntarily trade it for anything. And, dear, beloved Dubuque, Iowa, to thee I concede that your no-doubt countless charms are well worth singing about.
I think our brain likes to trick us to liking where we currently are. By parroting over and over I like selling these widgets it makes it more palatable so we don’t want to poke our eyes out.
The need to share on social media is likely a new thing in the last 10 years. Which again helps with the fooling ourselves part
And I realize the irony in my comments since I wrote a blog
You’re probably right. I just never had any desire—much less a need—to publicly profess my love for anything job-related, so I have a hard time understanding those who do just that. Likely because I’m an old guy and all along have had feelings relating to social media that range somewehere between distaste and hostility. And even before social media, my instinct was to hold my feelings close to the vest.