I had a plan. I was going to spend my 30′s moving up the professional food chain, to snuggly position myself in a COO or CIO position at a small to mid-sized technology firm by the time I was in my early- to mid-40′s. I was going to that until I was around 50, and then I was going to make a career change and shift into professional coaching and consulting.
That plan included several assumptions:
- I would have another source of income at the time I switched to coaching that could compensate for me going from a cozy 6-figure salary to a low 5-digit salary over night. (My husband’s business, probably.)
- I was going to continue to love managing operations.
- I was going to want to continue to be the boss.
- I was going to continue to want to work in technology.
I always considered the biggest risk to that plan to be point #1. Never in a million years did it occur to me that the real problem was going to be items #2-4.
I absolutely love my current job. I adore my bosses. I enjoy my co-workers. And I am pleasantly surprised every single week by incredible, positive attitudes and the amazing results that they can produce — all from within my current company. It’s someplace where I have no problem trying to recruit friends to join, because I have no doubt about my bosses’ sense of integrity, priorities or values, and I do not worry that I’ll feel bad about pulling my friends into an awkward situation — and I have had more than one job where I could not have said that.
But last night, during a great conversation with my boss, he surprised me with a piece of interesting news. I started laughing and said, “This is why I’m here: you will never give me the chance to get bored! Every time I think I have figured out what to expect, you come up with something new.”
It was a totally spontaneous, sincere moment and I absolutely meant it (and still do, more than 26 hours later), but as those words came out of my mouth, I had an epiphany: part of the reason that I love this so much is because, in my heart of hearts, I know this is the last job I will have in this space. And like the 11:45 rush to ride Space Mountain one last time after a full day at Disneyland, I am in the interesting and unique position of knowing that I want to relish the experience, because it’s going to be my last one.
I have only ever made a living at a keyboard. Like anyone who has been in this space since before the 2000 Bubble Burst, I have now been on this rollercoaster ride more than once. The climb is exhilarating, and the fall is both devastating and empowering. But this time was different for me, and as I watch the business climate around me change, I see very clearly why I am not the same 28-year-old who eagerly looked forward to the bounce-back last time.
That time I knew there was more I wanted to do, to learn and to see in the space. I was still in love with it. I was still addicted to the adrenaline. And I was still the young junkie looking for the next great professional rush.
I’m not that person anymore.
The things that I used to care about and enjoy — technology, process, systems, models and concepts — do not interest me in and of themselves anymore. When the web was the Wild West, it was exciting and new and untamed. Now it’s overly polished, overly researched, overly commoditized, and overly sterilized.
It’s like in “Pump Up the Volume,” when Christian Slater’s character said: “All the great themes have been used up and turned into theme parks.”
For three years, I’ve been fighting it. I thought that if I moved to a new city, or found a new job, or worked for a new company, that I could revitalize my flagging interest. And I couldn’t figure out why none of it worked. But now I get it. It’s the people who interest me. And that’s why I can love my current job, and give it my all, even though I never want to look at another Gannt Chart or sit on another conference call ever again: because I just adore my bosses.
It’s interesting how much easier it is to seriously consider the future possibilities once I let go of the past. I have been truly blessed to be able to sincerely say that I have loved my career. I have been able to make a wonderful living doing something that I loved, and meeting people who (with the exception of my husband) only ever came into my life because of work. But I don’t love it anymore. For me, for now, the people are enough to help keep me motivated, but I recognize that time will eventually change as well.
I have some ideas about what is coming next for me — whenever that is. It’ll be a while, because my current boss knows how to play up to my ADD inclinations and will keep me fascinated and entertained for quite a while. And as long as that is true, and as long as I end each day able to say to myself, “I adore who I work for,” then I’m not going anywhere.
But whether it’s a year from now or five years from now, the day will come when even adoring my bosses and constantly finding myself surprised at work won’t be enough. And when that happens, the next job won’t be a re-hashed version of this one. It won’t have anything to do with project management. It won’t have anything to do with technology. I won’t spend my day at a keyboard. And I won’t have to carry my phone with me at all times to respond to emails within a minute of their arrival.
I’m still not exactly sure what it is going to be, but it’s going to be physical and lifestyle-based. It’ll probably have something to do with food (or maybe dogs… or both!). It’s going to be one-on-one and individual. It’s going to be personal and inspiring. It’s going to be about change and transformation. I think about it a lot, now that I’ve stopped trying to fight it. And like the perfect, dream vacation that you roll around in the back of your mind while sitting in traffic, this is something that I mull over slowly and languidly, debating options and weighing permutations.
Eventually I’ll figure it out, and start actively planning for that transition. But for now it’s still just past the horizon. But instead of filling me with dread, it now fills me with peace of mind. Because it means that I can be truly present in my current job, without constantly looking towards what must inevitably come “next.” So I can enjoy it for what it is: smart people, complex technology, and the dance between the world of business and the world of bits and bytes.
I can let myself be pleasantly surprised by a boss who is always planning something new, and I don’t feel the need to second-guess or anticipate his next set of plans. I can sleep at night knowing that my efforts are contributing to the success of a business founded by men I both like and respect. And I can laugh over trivial crap, and amusing ironies, with incredibly smart people who are genuine, inspiring and endlessly enjoyable.
Eventually I’ll figure out what my next career is going to be. And, at some point, I’ll figure out when it needs to be. But for now, I’m focusing on savoring the last job I’m going to have doing the only thing I’ve ever done.
I had a plan. It’s gone now. I’m going to need another one. But I’m going to take a very Zen-like approach, and just have faith that when the time is right, I’ll figure it out. And in the meantime, I’m going to enjoy the rush of that one last, good rollercoaster ride.
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