The First Year Phenomena

We all have heard of the one more year syndrome.  Financially independent individuals with adequate net worth somehow convince themselves to continue in the day-to-day drudgery of their W2 employ.  There are many reasons.  Sequence of returns risk.  The allure of golden handcuffs.  The wall of fear.  Whatever the excuse may be, many of us are guilty.  I sure am.

The business of this blog,  at times, is to delve into the why behind my sometimes irrational decisions.  The hope is that my folly will  be instructive to those either behind or ahead of me in the struggle.

To understand why it is so hard to let go of my current employment status, I thought it prudent to return to where it all started.  As another season of my life passes marked by the blaring of the alarm clock every morning at 4:45 am, I have begun to think about where my beliefs regarding work come from.  I find myself thinking a lot about the first year phenomena.

I was fourteen when I started my first job.  By then, my father had died, my mother remarried, and we moved to one of the wealthiest suburbs in the country.  Surrounded by rich kids, I was one of the very few who actually chose to get a job.

So why did I do it?

Ice Cream Castles

My first job was in an ice cream parlor.  I can remember entering the back door and punching in. A fourteen year old impostor.  I had no idea about ice cream, food preparation , or customer service.  That day was a baptism by fire, and my entry into the world of usefulness.

Up to that point, I had never created or produced anything of value.  My soul purpose in life was defined by the family that nourished me and the school that taught me.  I had no definition outside those fairly circumscribed walls.  And yet I yearned.

Not to make money.  I don’t remember wanting anything that money could buy.  Not for love.  I had plenty of love and support at home.

It was purpose.  I yearned for a sense of belonging.  I wanted a reason.  Looking back all these years later, I realize that i was desperately searching for a sense of value.  Being just a child, my father’s death left a glaring hole in my psyche. I somehow believed that i was the reason that he left us.  Because I was not good enough.  As irrational as it sounds now, I remember feeling this way.

To Replace That Which Was Missing

So I focused on achievement.  Having a job at such a young age gave me a sense of accomplishment.  And when I was good at it, and received all sots of accolades, my pride swelled.

I created a community.  A place filled with friends and colleagues.  A place where everybody not only knew my name, but knew my value as a hard worker.  I walked in the door and was greeted by high fives and relief by fellow coworkers because they realized that the night was going to be that much easier.

It wasn’t about money. I often forgot to pick up my paychecks.

The people I worked besides were not the same rich snooty kids that I went to school with.  I was exposed to a whole different world of honest, hard-working, colorful people.  They became my friends.  My colleagues.  My social network to cavort with after closing hours.

And I belonged.

That Which Comes Before

The first year phenomena is my only rational excuse for not pulling the plug years ago.  I am connected to work in a way that is much deeper and profound than the electronic transfer of currency that signifies payday.  I didn’t start working at the age of fourteen to make money.  And I can’t stop at the age of forty-four although I have already accumulated enough.

From that first day, employment has defined my usefulness, created my community, and given me the minutia to engage my overactive thoughts.

I just don’t see myself stopping anytime soon?

Am I crazy?

How about you?  What’s keeping you at your job?  Do you plan to work post FI?