“Wow! What a setup!,” I thought. I get to do only the type of work that I generally enjoyed during my working career. I have a cap on the number of hours I’ll work that I set and that’s so low that I can easily do the work and not have it materially impinge on my FIRE lifestyle. I do work for/report to a great person. And I’m paid many multiples higher than what I earn in my other gigs.
This was the nature of a contracting gig I took last year. I mentioned it in my Why Do I Do It?! post earlier this year. Briefly, I had and took the opportunity to make some money that I didn’t necessarily need, but which would make a noticeable dent in our 2022 expenses and stave off any need to dip into our investments. But mostly to calm my mind which (irrationally or not) was all astir because of the beating that 2022 was delivering to our investments.
Although the opportunity came to me (rather than me seeking it out), I had reason to believe that I’d not only really enjoy the work arrangement, but also the work itself. Heck, I even thought that I might want to increase the cap on hours that I’d offered to work.
Projects started rolling in. At first, I got some enjoyment and satisfaction from them. Enjoyment, because the work was what I’d only a few months earlier liked doing. And because I was doing just this type of work. Not the type of work I hated, or that I’d focused on for the last several years of my full-time career, which I didn’t hate, but didn’t love. And satisfaction, because my projects were pretty short and simple, and I did good work.
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes (turn and face the strange)
But soon my feelings changed. Not because the gig changed. But because I realized that I had changed.
Strange. But a revelation.
The gig always was intended to be limited to just a few months. As a result, notwithstanding my revelation, I didn’t seek to end the arrangement early. I’d made a commitment and intended to deliver.
But the limited timeframe had a positive, if perverse, side effect. Anytime I’d feel some dread for having to do the work, I’d remind myself that in [X] months/days, I wouldn’t have to do it. Kinda like my reward for doing the work would be no work. Or, put another way, a void. Or “nothing.”
On second thought, maybe it was “something.” Two things, even: (1) not having to do work that I no longer got any thrill from; and (2) getting back that time to do with it whatever the heck I pleased.
Lemme tell you, that ain’t nothing.
Put another way, I think that without my having realized it, I got to a point best described by sentiments that others have expressed as to taking on work (post-FIRE): (1) “it’s either a ‘no’ or a ‘heck, yeah!’”; and (2) “I have two rates, free or $10,000/hr”.
It’s an odd place I find myself in. Not bad or good. Just odd.
I mean, I’m still coming to terms with the fact that it was so recently when I’d not only liked to have done this work, but would’ve lllooovvved to do it instead of the type of work that I was instead doing. But now it did little to nothing in terms of exciting me.
Admittedly, the pay I received for this work certainly helped calm my troubled mind. But in the recesses of my brain, I knew that we didn’t need the money. And regardless of how nice the paychecks were, they didn’t prevent—much less override or preempt—my negative feelings.
Add to this that the other work I do (in my side gigs and part-time job), I quite like a lot. That’s regardless of the fact that they pay a small fraction of what the contract gig paid. It doesn’t pay $10,000/hour, but it’s closer to a “heck yeah!” than work I’ve done for the last few decades.
Testing, one, two, three . . .
Something I’ve learned since FIREing is that money-making opportunities will come my way. No predicting what and when. But they’ll come.
I’ve started asking myself whether I’d entertain, and ultimately take, a contracting gig akin to the one I took in 2022. I’m not yet at a hard “no” stage yet. But I’m inching toward it.
A test came recently when a potential opportunity like the one I took in 2022 came my way. My offer to do the work ultimately wasn’t accepted because the organization wanted someone who could work more hours than I was willing to. On learning that I’d not be getting the work, I mostly felt . . . relief.
I admit to still feeling a slight twinge of regret. Mostly because of the lost potential income, which would’ve covered a healthy chunk of our annual expenses this year, which for various reasons promise to be far higher than normal. Those high expenses are causing me—irrationally or not—angst just as in 2022 did the beating that the markets visited upon us.
But because of my having increasingly accepted that the thrill to me of doing this work is mostly gone, that regret is less acute than it’d have been last year. And unquestionably overridden by my feeling of relief.
I’d still like to earn more money this year. In part because of the hand-wringing that our expensive 2023 is inducing. Also, because I’m happy to have found that even after FIREing, I still like doing some work (and earning money and hanging out with good coworkers). But I’m coming to terms with the fact that if that revenue comes from my low-paying side gigs and part-time gigs, I’m down with that.
And in the end . . .
The great thing about coming to this realization post-FIRE is that all I pretty much have to do to prevent these negative feelings stemming from any type of work is to not take a gig. Or, for an opportunity that I took and want to end, essentially just snap my fingers and put it to rest. That’s way better than when I’d be unhappy in my job during my pre-FIRE career and reverse the sensation by way of vacation. Those renewed positive feelings, however, would be fleeting, and end once back on the job.
