Don’t Be Good Enough was developed as a personal blog and resource for individuals making mid-life career changes. It was created by me, Erik Woodward, as I made my own shift and to interview those that have successfully navigated this transition.
My goal is to show the benefits and tradeoffs of taking this risk, and to coach others using my personal journey through this process.
“I don’t care what happens.”
Burn out. What a terrible phrase. I had recently taken on a new role as a Project Manager for an initiative pushed by a Senior Manager in our department. While he was someone I respected, I didn’t want to leave my current assignment to take on this new task. Our company had recently gone through a reorganization (read: downsizing), and I was moved to a new ‘Special Project’ division. Due to my high-potential employee designation, they assured me only someone with my experience could handle the task.
But from the moment that I accepted the job, I knew it was a mistake. The initiative required significant changes from the large company that it was not willing to make, and there were roadblocks all along the way. Add to this my reluctance to accept the job in the first place, and it was a toxic mix of lack of enthusiasm, constant fighting across teams, and a serious lack of progress.
After another week of frustration and anger, I came home and told my wife I was done. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had experienced health problems in the past few months and was struggling with sleeping. More importantly, I was not the person I wanted to be for our family.
She said to me, “You need to figure out what you want out of life.” I was 36 years old.
This had not been the first time this had happened. In the past few years, as I jumped into new roles with ever increasing responsibility. But I came home more and more frustrated. She had seen the effect it had on me, and on our kids. She was trying to determine if it was worth it. While we had achieved everything we wanted (strong financial independence, experiences living abroad, stable community of friends), we didn’t recognize the place where we ended up.
But whenever I started questioning my choices, the next job came along and presented us with an exciting new challenge. This restarted the endorphine clock and pushed that nagging feeling to the bottom, and for another year or two I was able to deliver. Besides, the company had labeled me as a high performer, and those glowing annual reviews and salary increases were telling me I was on the right path. Even though there were doubts, my life was good enough, I told myself.
The constant momentum of changing jobs and ever increasing responsibility never allowed me to pause and think: What am I doing here? What am I trying to accomplish?
First I started with the stereotypical next steps, such as pursuing an MBA or graduate degree. Maybe additional schooling or certification would help, I told myself. This seems like a logical, mid-career, wandering decision. I would study for the GMAT for a few weeks, feel better about myself, then stop as soon as a pressing work deadline came up.
But then I started looking around, and talking with my peers. I began to realize, in private conversations, that there were a lot of people who felt the same way I did. In ever increasing public discussions, I heard that many people stayed for the pension, or that the work wasn’t really that hard for the pay, so why rock the boat? Very few employees beyond the 10 year mark felt excited about being there.
As these employees entered the middle of their career, they were sliding into those roles for the long haul. The company had them pegged as high performer, middle manager, or individual contributor, and they were accepting of their fate. Or worse yet, they believed they were still working their way up the corporate ladder, when the company had long decided on a lower trajectory for them.
So I started interviewing more people, in particular those who had reached the end of their career in this field, in my company. And what I found surprised me.
Many of them, while financially secure, wished they had taken a risk instead of playing it safe.
One of them was a close mentor of mine, had been punching his clock for 10 years to gain his retirement so he could start his own company. Within 6 months of retirement, he was diagnosed with leukemia and entered into a year of treatment, successfully recovering but having a very different view on his life.
Sometimes it wasn’t just interviews: it was experience with senior executives of the firm that caused me to stop and think. I remember sitting at the table in the Board room, watching a group of managers discuss a major project. I knew many of them had sacrificed significantly for the company, most notably in their personal life. In my mind, as I walked down the row of people who had achieved the pinnacle of what I could ever hope to achieve within the company, I realized that I didn’t want to be any of them. My best case future was not where I wanted to be.
So I took the risk. I jumped from the known to the unknown.
Maybe this is the definition of a first-world problem: leave a high paying and secure job to chase the illusive personal meaning path, something our parents and definitely grandparents would have scoffed at. Or that it is a millennial problem and people today are too picky. But I know there is only one life that we have, and you need to be honest with yourself on how to use it.
There is nothing easy about this: I have struggles and doubts, mixed with a bit of fear and regret. But for the first time in a long time, I feel creative and hopeful for what is ahead. And as I have started traveling down this path, so many new opportunities are opening up.
If there is one thing I can leave you with, it is this: you are not alone.
Start asking questions of yourself, surround yourself with like-minded people, take action to start your journey, and be intentional about your life. You may chose to stay, or you may choose to leave. But stay tuned for the ride.
All the best,
Erik