Let’s be real. If you’re between 55-65, you should love your job. You should be making good money. You should love your co-workers. Afterall, you’ve had a career where you’ve mostly made the right moves to get where you are, otherwise you wouldn’t be there, now, would you?
So if you’re where you want to be, there’s a good chance you’ll stay. After all, somewhere along the line you took a left and started realizing you could like your job. That’s why you’re there. Otherwise, you would have left.
The truth is, you’re probably making good money, too. You may not be making what *you* think you should make, but you’re making more money than you’ve ever made and raises, incentives, and bonuses are within your grasp. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be there.
You’ve managed to play the politics, be the boss, smooze the boss, do the work, avoid the work, fire people, hire people, and generally get to where you are by doing all the right things. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be there.
And this is why you’ll never retire and launch your Nomad Life. You’re too comfortable. Why give up a job you love, co-workers you like, and money you adore? Afterall, a vacation here or there is good enough, right?
They’re called golden handcuffs for a reason.
Shoot, I loved my job. I loved my house. I loved my career. I loved my city. I loved my car. I loved my friends. I loved everything about my life. So why did I give it all up?
Because I thought I’d love Nomad Life more. I really had no evidence that I would. It was a jump of faith. But the thought of less stuff, fewer bills, and more freedom simply crawled into my head and wouldn’t exit.
Could I have stayed and worked longer? Made more money? Gotten another promotion? Retired with a better title? Yup.
Of course I thought I was irreplaceable! My bosses rated me highly. They wanted me there. I made their lives easier and richer. They fed me 5-star bullshit time and time again so that I wouldn’t leave. I was good at my job. I loved it. I made great money.
But the minute I left, I knew in my gut that my departure meant nothing to anyone but me.
They forgot about me. My job continued. I was replaced. No one called franticly. No one needed me. No one even missed me for one second. They all were thrilled for me. Or jealous. I’m not sure which, but I have a gut feeling.
Then I was gone.
I never even sent a post card.
But all of that ^^^ is why you won’t leave. Unless you’re willing to step out of that giant comfort box that keeps you trapped inside of it, you won’t leave. Raises are too tempting. Titles are too important. “Making a difference” rings too loudly.
Because what if you had to actually find hobbies that you liked? That filled your soul instead of your weekend? Or you made a meal out of exotic ingredients at the market instead of from a box of pasta and a jar of sauce? What if your life actually might be richer if you made less, reported less, and spreadsheeted less?
Giving it all up is scary. But once you take the first step, there’s no going back.
Nomad Life is waiting. Circle a date on the calendar and make a plan.
Now.
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Thank you for this masterfully written piece that backs into the reasons to make the choice you suggest should not be made. In my case, the journey to my choice to travel about ten months a year outside of the USA included steps that were not my choice. I timed out of a forty year career seventeen years ago. In a more dramatic way I timed out of a forty-five year marriage when my wife died fifteen years ago. Those two conclusions left a gaping, life-sized hole behind, only slightly smaller than the narrow band of life left surrounding it. After experimenting with a new version of life traveling outside the US for a minimum of eight weeks a year for ten years, Covid grounded me for a while. I had just moved to a loft in the center city. As soon as I could I started traveling again, it did not take long to decide to lighten my load so that all I had left was the backpack and a bag large enough to hold some basic electronics. It is not far from three years now traveling almost full time. Even when I am back with family in the US, I live out of my backpack, continuing to write Substack and Facebook articles. I published my first book in June and have just started the next one. (I have told parts of this story here and elsewhere before - but then it is my story, the only one I have, so no apologies for repeating it.). I loved this post. You made a lucid and compelling case for making the choice you made and the choice I have made. Thank you.
It's that comfort level that stops people. You lay out some hard truths here, Chris.