About five years ago, people I’ve known forever started to casually work the “R’ word into a sentence. They do it to gauge sentiment about not working. The line would go something like this, “A friend of mine just retired — and loves it.” Fictitious friend aside, I looked at walking away from work the way that dog looked at the gramophone in those old RCA ads (Sherry, his name is Nipper, btw). So, one last movie themed post — promise. You see, I’ve worked hard to set up this story arc. You didn’t know I had hard work in me. Frankly, neither did I.
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When most of you call, email, or text me, one of the first things you ask is some version of, “Hey, what are you up to these days?” For most of my life, that’s been easy to answer. School. Looking for work. Work. Hating work. Looking for work. Trying to find a work-life balance. Posing and posturing.
My totally not fictitious friend Mark who I’ve known for fifty years never had that problem. He retired this summer — and he loves it. If you asked Mark what he’s up to he’d talk about camping with family, or playing the drums in church, or golfing with his dad. Any number of things. And, none of them have to do with work. He turned down promotions at work. Turns down! He couldn’t wait to stop working. He’s going to write a novel — or something.
Now, I’m beginning to question my answer. It all has to do with this guy named Evan.
See if you can spot all the movie references. The first one is the the jump narrative structure from Pulp Fiction. I’m going to start near the end, go back to the start, and then wrap this up.
I’m the AGING MAN. I think the FEMALE BORDER AGENT’s name was Bunny.
Weeping when someone asks, “What do you do?” is a sure sign you’re lost. Still, there I was, sobbing in an airport. In a customs line. In front of a lady with a gun named Bunny.
Prior to that day, I loved when Bunnies would pose the layup question. My starchy title answers: trader, consultant, banker, deal guy, media guy, start up guy…had all the soul filling nutrients of a Royale with Cheese.
CUT TO: Two years ago.
Shortly after that class, my brother, Ian, called me. As usual, he opened with, “What are you up to?” I answered, “Killing it developing a new product.” Then, he got to the point, “We’re looking for a great entry-level banker. Know anyone? Oh, and call mom.”
As you know, Ian does what Ryan Gosling’s character did in The Big Short. Which is to say, he makes lending money needlessly complex.
I asked around. The prof from that class said Evan is the best student he’d had in twenty years. He had degrees in engineering, history, and journalism. Degrees don’t make you smart, Scarecrow. Then, he went to army. Just enlisting doesn’t make you an officer. Right, Mayo? Then, he got two masters in two subjects (MBA and theology) from two different universities — at the same time. How do you like those apples, Clark.
I pinged Evan on LinkedIn and told him Ian was looking. A few minutes later, Ian called me. “Got the resume and cover letter from Evan. Best one I’ve read in twenty years.”
Ian told me about the into. It went something like this.
My parents wanted to live the dream. They bought a house and a car. All of that was possible thanks to needlessly complex loans called securitization.
Ian couldn’t believe it. In about an hour, Evan had storified a banking structure as archaic and esoteric as a tennis-like game called cross courts.
Clearly, Evan is a rock star. He didn’t get the job. The why is for another day.
After all of Ian’s gushing, I felt I should do something to help Evan along in his career. So, I offered Evan a placeholder job doing nothing and paid him very little. We dressed it up with a nice title for Bunnies, recruiters, and people who saw it on LinkedIn. Because it’s easier to feel good about yourself and get other jobs when you have a job with a nice title.
Since neither of us had much to do, we spent our mornings chatting. About media, business, really anything that caught our interests. I called it: 8AMs with Evan. Actually, it was a lot like these posts. A LOT.
Before I realized it, Evan knew our industry and our business. A lot better than me. A LOT. I queathed unto him “real boy” status and made him Chief of Staff.
He did the work. I rambled anecdotally. A LOT. Secretly, I wished that could be my job. But just rambling anecdotally is not a job.
For the last year, Evan has run everything. He was on his honeymoon in Paris this summer with his wife — who looks like Kristen Bell — when Bunny asked me the question that marked my life with a semicolon.
“What do you do?” I had no answer. I couldn’t say, “Rambler.” But, thanks to Evan, I don’t do much. I don’t run anything. LinkedIn says I’m employed. So, I’m not retired. I’m lost.
For three decades, I’ve defined myself and measured my worth by my title or job description. The longer the description, the more hyphenated words, the more obtuse, the better. See:
“As a consumer-focused, insights-driven company, we produce, market, distribute and sell a diversified portfolio of well over 500 beer and other malt beverage brands.” That’s the fanciful way Anheuser-Busch describes what they do. Translation. They, “Sell beer.”
At my peak, I told Bunnies that, “I use the insights I glean from consumer media to improve the efficacy and applicability of doctor-focused-content to diversify the ways pharmaceutical companies can explain their brands.” Which really meant, “I sell ads.”
After seeing how small my long rambles are, I don’t much care what I do now because I realized I didn’t do much before. I stopped weeping.
Going forward, I’m going to measure my worth like Mark does — by height and weight.
Then I realized, he’s taller and weighs more. I started to WEEP.
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My new friend, Jez, ends 72.6% of his emails to me with a P.S.. I like them. It’s like finding one last kernel of popcorn in your bucket at the movies when you thought you were done. So…
P.S.
No. This post is NOT a covert cry for help. No tears — real or digital — were shed in the making of this movie script turned post. Angie, there is no need to text me. Promise. This is simply a fun way to look at what a lot of folks I know talk about these days: the “R” word. I worked it into this silly ramble to see if you’d look at me like Nipper looks at a gramophone. If you’re not, that tells me it’s OK for me to talk about retiring. 😊