I recently reinvented my work schedule. It was an idea that began to marinate months ago as my father faded away in front of me, gaining momentum in his final days.
It required taking a big risk, and being willing to live with the consequences if things did not go my way.
The decision to act was rooted in the two realities that define my day to day:
- The kids are going to leave.
- We are going to die.
So what was I going to do about that?
Financial independence gave me, if not quite a sense of total peace, at least a buffer of comfort. I still have concerns about health insurance, which accounts to spend down first in retirement and a host of other whispers reminiscent of Shel Silverstein's Whatif poem, but none of the thoughts consume me. Finances are no longer a reason for insomnia.
Having my financial life in order also meant that I could consider cutting back without fear that middle-aged me would be robbing old me of a comfortable future. The nest egg had been laid long ago.
By now, dear reader, I understand your skepticism: it seems my superpower is neither recovery from burnout nor personal finance, but the uncanny ability to turn a given full-time job into a part-time job.
I might modify that slightly: Financial independence removes the fear of failure, because I wove and suspended a safety net before I jumped.
The two realities now had a third: mom is going to need more help from me now that dad is gone.
The regret matrix (a term referring to the use of anticipated regret in decision theory) had me consider which I would feel the greatest remorse in missing out on, the chance to advance my administrative career or the opportunity to be more present for my family commitments.
It was no contest. I lost a couple of weeks' worth of sleep concerned about how the conversation with my boss might go, and then calmed my nerves by preparing a course of action:
- I would give plenty of lead time before the end of the year to show that although I had made this decision, I had no intention of abandoning my friends and colleagues abruptly.
- I would make clear that I would remain available to continue in my role but with limited availability if that would be helpful to the organization. I was not leaving this job to take another one.
- I would be explicit about the fact that I enjoyed my work and respected my colleagues, that there was no awful person or event that led to this decision. I had a change in the needs of my family that required more of my time be available to meet new responsibilities.
A month after my father passed away, I steeled my nerves and sat down to have the talk with the lead executive to whom I reported.
It was a candid talk, and the executive was an attentive and thoughtful listener who attempted to understand my motivations and needs, cautioning me not to make a hasty or emotional decision that I might regret later.
After several weeks of checking in, during which time I was asked to think it through a little longer before finalizing my decision, it became clear that I was not going to change my mind.
The executive, coming from an business background where ambition was a common language, regarded me as a bit of an enigma.
Boss: So you aren't leaving for a more prestigious or higher paying position elsewhere?
Me: No.
The exec couldn't make heads or tails of me, as I did not conform to the usual script. Still, my decision was accepted and the experiment of keeping me on part-time and exploring how the organization could adapt was made.
I gave up the bonus incentive available only to full-time executives, but kept my health insurance and the ability to contribute to retirement accounts.
I jumped, and as it turned out, my willingness to walk away from it all if it didn't meet my needs helped me secure a deal that was a win for me and a win for the organization.
No search has been undertaken to find my successor. I have retained my title and position. I've notified colleagues of my reduced availability and they have expressed support. The experiment has begun!