Money, Man!: Part X

Welcome, Dear Reader, to Part X of my series of posts on how my job experiences and my relationship with money brought me to wanting to FIRE. Yowza! That’s far, far . . . far too many a lotta posts! In case you’re new to the series, or wanna relive the misery good old times of reading past posts, here are links to Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, and Part IX. 

Employer #5, cont’

Boss #12, cont’

In my last post, I explained that The Missus and I had decided to move from the Midwest to the Mountain West. As I’ve mentioned on this here blog before, we made the decision to move without first having jobs out west lined up. Notwithstanding my by-then-hardwired caution, pessimism, and concern about my job and employment generally, my discovery of FIRE had so transformed me that I made that decision without any trepidation. I’d become confident enough in our financial condition and path, and enough of an optimist, to believe that there was every chance that I and/or The Missus would be able to line up jobs before our actual move date. I also concluded that even if that didn’t happen, we could weather a period of no income. Even a long period. 

Just a few years earlier—in the pre-discovery-of-FIRE times— it’s more likely than not that we’d not have decided to move. Let alone so confidently and without having jobs lined up first.

After thinking about when and how to tell Boss #12 about the plan to move, I decided to frame it essentially as a resignation at a set future date. Full stop. The main concern I had, given that I’d be delivering the news six months before our move date (so as to provide Boss #12 ample time to hire a replacement and develop and implement a transition plan), was whether Boss #12 might throw a monkey wrench into my plans by forcing my resignation sooner. Knowing what I did about Boss #12, that seemed unlikely. But I knew that I was taking a bit of a gamble. 

The next workday afternoon, I knocked on Boss #12’s door and asked if she had time to talk. Boss #12 said that she did. I closed the door behind me, which I’m sure instantly raised her “something’s-up” senses. 

Before I get to what transpired in the meeting, I need to back up a step. A few months into her time as leader of our group, Boss #12 asked me to lunch. She hadn’t ever done that (and as it turned out, never would again). I had no reason to believe that the lunch would be anything other than a chance to do some socializing, so I said, “Sure.” I mean, who am I to turn down a free lunch, amiright? 

The lunch turned out to be just what I’d suspected. We talked about ourselves outside work, and our families, and generally got to know each other better. When I think back on all this now, I realize that this lunch might’ve marked the beginning of the period following that in which Boss #12 did her unannounced vetting of the group members she’d inherited. My having passed this test I didn’t know that I was taking, I think Boss #12 used this lunch as a means to get a better measure of this man. And maybe for me to get a better understanding of her. During the course of the discussion, I mentioned my love of the Mountain West. Boss #12 said that she shared my attraction. 

OK, fast forward back to my meeting with Boss #12 tell her that I would be moving. Presumably remembering our discussion about the Mountain West, Boss #12’s genuine surprise at my news was tempered. After raising her eyebrows and saying, “Wow! OK,” she noted that she understood my decision. It seemed she admired it, too. And was excited for me.

Then Boss #12 surprised me by asking if I’d be open to working for the group remotely. Wow, I thought! I hadn’t expected that. 

In an instant I realized that it was an offer I couldn’t pass up. By accepting it, I could immediately resolve the issue of my post-move job situation. And because I enjoyed a healthy salary, even if The Missus wasn’t able to line up a new gig before we moved, our income still would more than cover our expenses. 

Playing it cool, I said to Boss #12, “Yeah, sure, I’d consider it. Can I get back to you?” “Of course,” she replied.

Now, while there was almost no chance that I’d not accept Boss #12’s offer, part of me stalled in order to not seem so eager and potentially lose any leverage I might have in the situation at hand, and also going forward. The other reason that I stalled was that by this point I really had started to make outreach efforts in our new city to secure a new job. It was early days on that front, but some of the efforts seemed promising. I genuinely was interested to see what, if anything, might come from them and other efforts I’d planned to make. 

When I got home from work that day, The Missus asked about the meeting with Boss #12. After telling her the story, The Missus said, “Wow! That’s great! Are you going to accept the offer?” I replied, “Yeah, I think I will. I mean, it’d solve one-half of our post-move job situations. And I wouldn’t have to go through the whole job search process (a process that I hate), and which anyway is a huge pain and hassle. Plus, if I decide that I want to make a change, I can job search while having a job—generally easier than looking for a job while out of work—and can do it on the ground, rather than remotely.” The Missus, who, unlike me, was highly nervous about moving without first having jobs lined up, was absolutely thrilled by this welcome turn of events.

I accepted Boss #12’s offer the next day. 

Then we were off to the races. I passed the months leading up to the move in what seemed to be parallel universes. One being my business-as-usual work world. Doing work that I’d rather not be doing, interacting with my coworkers like everything was normal, and earning and saving month after month. The other world being one that existed only in my head, of my life as it would be in a new part of the country, with a new lifestyle, new opportunities and things to learn and experience, radically different terrain, and more sunshine. 

We also had to sell our condo. Having had a miserable go of doing that the last time we’d tried to sell a condo many years earlier, we girded ourselves for the worst. As things turned out, we found a buyer within two months, which took a load off of our minds. 

Then things on the job front for me went a little sideways. The arrangement with Boss #12 had always been contemplated to have been an employment relationship, with me being a remote employee, and Boss #12 had gotten approval for it from higher-ups. But even-higher-up muckety-mucks at Employer #5 decided to throw a curveball in our direction soon afterwards and told Boss #12 that she couldn’t, in fact, keep me on as an employee.  

Boss #12 was upset by the overruling of the approval she’d secured, and by the actions she’d since taken in reliance upon it possibly having been rendered moot. I was, of course, glad she was pissed upset. Boss #12 is someone skilled at getting her way when she knows her way is right. This was one of those occasions. So, Boss #12 successfully secured approval to keep me on as a contractor rather than as an employee. My role would be the same as it had been, but I’d no longer be a (full-time) employee. 

Now, I experienced this change in circumstances in slightly opposing, but both impactful, ways. On the one hand, I’d originally been prepared to move without having a job lined up, and was by this point confident in our financial position. So, as I’ve mentioned, the prospect of no job, or even a different type of work arrangement, didn’t petrify me as it once might’ve. That was a comfort.

But by this point, my brain had gotten used to the idea that I’d be an employee, with all the benefits that come with that. When the curveball came, all of my long-hardwired job security- and money-related fears that I’ve detailed in this series activated. I tamped them down by reminding myself that although my work arrangement would be one I’d never experienced, I’d still be earning a healthy sum comparable to my compensation package as an employee. 

But, still, I was a bit shaken. I’d thought that I’d repressed those fears, which I knew objectively that I shouldn’t have had at all. But in the moment, they came rushing back, and seemed to be telling me, “We’re still here, buddy boy. We’ll always be here. Mwah-ha-ha-ha!”

Finally, the day before the move (a weekday) arrived. For the prior week or two, I’d been making the rounds, telling people in the organization I’d be moving, but staying on as a remote worker, and saying my goodbye-but-not-goodbyes. And slowly but surely cleaning out my workspace. The last day in the office was a mad dash to clear out my remaining belongings and then sprint home. 

And then came the big day, and we were off on the open road. Arriving two days later, we began setting up our new life. 

I had a week off of work, and it was filled with discovery, anticipation, and excitement. On the one hand, I was as giddy as a young child about exploring and learning everything about our new location. On the other hand, I knew that I’d be going back to work in a few short days. That’d mean going back to work I didn’t love, and the return of stress.

I also began thinking about The Missus and her job search and hoped that it’d be quick and successful. Knowing that she was very nervous about being unemployed, and had no impending prospects, began to weigh heavily on me. Ditto for the unknown of how Thing One (The Elder) and Thing Two (The Younger) would adjust to our new location and their new lives. I hoped desperately that the move—which I was responsible for—would be positive for the rest of The Family. 

Overlaying all this was the knowledge that we were hurtling towards FI and that we’d likely reach it within a few years. That notwithstanding, I still worried about our finances more than I ought to have. The root cause of that was my hardwired frugality and sense of finance precariousness. That was exacerbated by several other factors, not the least of which were that we’d just spent a lot of money on moving expenses, that we’d dropped one income (at least for the time being), and that the long bull market we were in was—I was convinced—long overdue for a major correction. 

And in the end . . . 

Dear Reader, the early days of my career started in the 1990s. That was a pretty miserable decade for me financially. If you’ve been reading this series and blog faithfully—and I know you have not—you’ll understand why. But by the time we moved west, things had turned around on that front. So, you could say that I wasn’t happy living in the ‘90s, but I was happy living in the wild, wild west. Tune in next time for Part XI of this series.