My Story Part III
Trusting blue eyes awaited my response, as mesmerizing as they were when we met 8 years ago. “So, do I sign up for the Roth or not?”
It was 2013, and my wife and I were finally entry level corporate employees. With low pay and poor benefits for 6 years prior, we had still managed 2 new paid for cars, near half equity in a new home, and two energetic toddlers.
But now we had middle-class pay, vacation, and 401K match. We felt like lottery winners.
But what about this new Roth thing? I knew less than I let on. “Put 7% in both 401K and Roth 401K. Now, click yes on the auto-increase 1% a year. I’ll set mine up the same.”
I had no real plan other than to avoid pissing money away on trivial luxuries. Little did I know this would pave the way for multi-millionaire status in just 10 more years.
Time flies
How privileged were these starting salaries? Not very. The average full time worker in 2013 made $57K vs my $52K salary. My wife’s was identical.
College grads 10 years younger in our company started much higher at $70K. I had a corporate job, sure, but it was still lower than entry level.
I didn’t dwell on it. Instead of demeaned, I felt privileged. We’d finally made it. With two corporate salaries, our household income was above average, and I was motivated to bust my butt in the office everyday to prove my worth.
Time seemed slow in our early adult lives, when we feared job loss. But now that the gods parted the clouds and bestowed corporate badges, time raced faster than our 2 toddlers evading naptime.
We fell into the routine dichotomy of work and family life, and we managed the balance well. Our careers grew as did our networks and reputations. Our fears of the rug being pulled from under us faded away, and company loyalty and pride took root.
We pimped our wardrobes with company-branded polos, baseball hats, and fleeces. I was a company man now and began to envision retiring here.
Ass Pains and Mortgages
My legs turned to jelly. We had just left our first Body Pump class exhausted. “It’s not so much the legs, as the whole ass that’s cramping,” I groaned.
“Apparently, I’m not in lunge shape,” I joked to my similarly-hobbled wife.
It was 2016. This year was our 10 year anniversary. We planned our first ever exotic vacation to a Mexican resort. I was 25 lbs overweight and dieting. I hoped to gain enough confidence to wear the Mexican sun on my skin instead of an oversized shirt to hide my gut.
The Body Pump instructor laughed as we gingerly stumbled down the steps. “I guess I won’t see you for the next class, then, huh?” she joked. She barely looked winded.
“We’ll see about that,” I taunted, stifling a grimace. And I meant it.
Our next stop was an equally important milestone: the bank. We wrote a $30K check to pay off our house. It felt like handing in a golden ticket. We were now debt free.
My legs were still killing me as I exited the bank, but I felt light enough to fly away in the wind.
Milestones
As our kids were reaching life milestones (missing teeth, birthday parties, kindergarten, a horrific bus crash they survived unscathed), my wife and I were hitting career milestones.
After 6 years in the sweatshop and 3 years of corporate-trainee-type pay, we busted past the guard rails, and our careers shot forth like a circus daredevil out of a cannon.
- I was promoted 4 times in 4 years; my wife was twice
- Our personal savings rate shot up over 50%
- We began maxing 401Ks, and piled cash in 529s, IRAs, and the bank
These were the glory years. I seemed to have everything going for me. But every bright light casts an equal shadow. Blinded by success and loyalty, I didn’t recognize the career abyss developing beside me until it was too late.
Lord Snod, White Rider of the Apocalypse
The knife tip pressed against my throat. The assailant’s wild eyes bored into mine. I swallowed hard. “Well,” he interrogated, “answer me.”
Except it wasn’t a knife, and he was no assailant.
It was a senior leader I trusted. A mentor. And a very desperate man trying to save his own bacon at my expense. It was 2019, and I was now a manager on the fast track.
Or so I thought. Now they wanted me to accept a career suicide mission instead: take a short term role at the company’s struggling joint venture and “fix” it inside 2 years. A task I knew was ill-conceived and doomed to failure.
“Sorry, but I won’t take this job,” I protested. “I’d be uprooting my family. And gain nothing in return. It’s just not gonna work for me.”
His velvety British accent grew venomous. “It’s your choice . . . if you want to be blacklisted. I mean, we put a lot of time into this. We can’t go back and tell the VP no.”
There it was. Our work misery was always pinned on the new VP, a consultant-style bogeyman with a reputation for devoted worshippers . . . and exiled rebels.
I knew about the firings, though the tales were only shared in cubicle whispers, as if the VP might suddenly appear like Voldemort. The only leaders from the old regime left were the ones that bowed and kissed the ring.
I was no ring-kisser, and my refusal to comply now made me a marked man.
It had only been a year since the VP rode into power on a white horse and put unbelievers to the sword. I thought I was low enough to escape his gaze, but the last promotion I just took, a people manager role, separated me from the anonymity of the crowd and left me exposed.
I should have seen it coming. After all, public companies turn over executives on average every 7 years, and we were past due. Rather than clinging to naive loyalty, I should have been on guard when a new CEO was named, and he brought in the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse, one of them my new barbarian VP.
Privately, I had taken to calling him Lord Snod, but publicly, I knew I better. Once his overlordship’s name was invoked, compliance was expected, and refusal was swiftly punished.
“What’s the mean? Blacklisted?”
“Its nothing good. It means you’ll never get promoted, never get a good rating, never get another opportunity.” He leaned in like he was divulging national secrets. In reality, he was a corporate automaton reborn as a Lord Snod henchman.
“And the next time we downsize, these people are the first to go. That’s what blacklisting means. That’s what you are signing up for.” He sighed and looked exhausted.
“And I don’t want that to happen to you. You should really think about this more.” Was that a hint of humanity in his eyes? I couldn’t tell. He wasn’t the man I knew anymore. He was one of Lord Snod’s generals and he had just threatened to destroy my career.
There are moments when it feels like life pushes you to the cliff’s edge. You can’t unwind time and start over with different decisions. Its too late now; you have to jump. Somewhere in the dark abyss below you hope is a soft place to land. But all you see is a wasteland of jagged rocks and thorns.
This was one of those moments for me. My runway had run its course. One way or another, my career as I knew it would never be the same. What next chapter awaited me at the bottom? Only way to find out.
I hugged my family close and told them I loved them that night. I promised they would always be number one, no matter what.
I closed my eyes.
My feet shambled forward and I tumbled headlong into the abyss.
Find out where I landed in Part IV where I’ll cover the final leg of my financial independence journey.