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Dear Friends and Colleagues,
Next month, I turn 55. With the life expectancy of a Canadian male currently hovering around 79.12 years, that places me on about the 13th tee box of life. Career-wise, seeing as I’m not planning on dying at my desk, way closer to the clubhouse than that. Close enough, in fact, to start thinking about a cold beer. Or, more aptly, The Cold Beer. Those of you old enough to remember will recall the London Life TV commercial from the early 1990s where a young, stressed out, up-and-comer wearing an ill-fitting London Fog raincoat—the uniform of a young up-and-comer in the early 1990s—bumps into his older self, jogging on the beach. The older version is fit, happy, and free, having retired at 55, Freedom 55.
Like that baggy London Fog, I’m not sure the tagline fits anymore, if it ever did.
Perhaps it’s a product of hanging around with people my age or simply an occupational hazard associated with spending time with seasoned members of the workforce, but the topic of retirement sure keeps coming up a lot lately. Like, everywhere. Unprompted, recently riding single on a chairlift, a fellow solo skier opened with, “retired?” Curious given I wear a helmet and goggles obscuring my salty hair and wrinkly eyes, the usual indicia of such a station. Or at dinner with friends, or the small-talk niceties at the outset of a client call, or watching a TV show, or even a song lyric I hear (“slow down you crazy child, take the phone off the hook and disappear for a while…”). Everywhere I look, every conversation I have, every moment around me. Like an M. Night Shyamalan movie… I see retired people.
Apparently there’s a name for this—Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon—which describes the experience where, after noticing something for the first time or focusing on a particular topic, you suddenly encounter it everywhere. Maybe this is that. Or, more likely, just one of those things nearly-55-year-olds talk about. Like joint pain or kids these days. And maybe that’s why the Freedom 55 commercial sticks in my mind—barring something unforeseen, I will soon be 55, but will I be “free” the day after? Not from looking at my calendar, I won’t. Abruptly finding freedom at 55, as though it’s the finish line of some pre-determined distance, like a 26-mile marathon, seems arbitrary, if not absurd; borne more of alliteration than inspiration.
As Sandra Oliver of Impact Coaches, one of the superb Humanis Group of Companies executive coaches, noted in a recent article on the topic, entitled Navigating the end of Career Transition is Tough:
“As we approach the end of our careers, it’s often a marathon right down to the last work day. In reality, it takes many years (two to five for most people) to move to a new plan because of all the emotions involved, the feelings of loss, the desire to change, and the need to build new ways of thinking. To make it through this transition, we have to pay attention to our emotions and honour them, and really think about what we want. As senior leaders, we don’t spend enough time thinking and planning for this journey – and as organizations, we don’t do enough to help people through it.”
I think the journey is made easier by leaning into what gives your life meaning—whatever that may be, whenever that might strike. Without meaning, there is no freedom, no matter the number.
The first time this topic entered my subconscious was during the early days of Covid. It was a cold grey April day, as are most April days in these parts, and I took a break from freaking out and headed over to my neighbourhood dog park. There, I bumped into an old, and former, colleague from my law firm days. Two things distinguished us: First, I had a dog. Second, he was retired. Had been for about 18 months, he explained. Ever since the firm ‘got rid of me.’ In his mid-70s and still in decent health, I offered my congratulations. “For what? It’s a living hell.” For a man who, in his day, had a biting wit, there was no humour in his assessment.
He was bored out of his mind. “Aren’t we all?” I offered, trying to lighten the mood. “I mean, how much sourdough can one man bake, am I right?” Nothing. Just dead eyes and a flat, unironic response, “I’ve been bored since long before Covid. Since the day they tossed me out.” He continued, unprompted, to suggest he felt lost, adrift, and of no relevance. Ah. Relevance. We’ll come back to that later.
That conversation stuck with me. Here was a man who had toiled away for decades, working on some of the most consequential, complex litigation matters in the country, docketing 2000 hours per year every year since before I was born, and yet, now that he was ‘free,’ he looked and sounded not like a man in a park without a care in the world but a prisoner in a cell burdened by his liberty. Freedom, his ass. More like Brooks Hatlen from The Shawshank Redemption.
I often reflect on that encounter, more so recently amidst this flurry of retirement talk. If the man in the park is to be believed, it looks pretty miserable. But it doesn’t have to be. Clearly, some relish it, others fear it. Others, still, don’t have the luxury of planning it. In this town, where severance packages are as common as a February chinook, retirement often chooses you. Let’s not forget that part.
One of the paradoxes woven into this whole retirement thing is the cruel irony that just about the time you feel you’ve mastered your craft, where little can faze you and sage counsel to those still climbing becomes practically reflexive, just then is when you reach your best before date. But I guess that’s the point. According to whom, and by what measure, exactly, have you expired? Your 55th birthday seems rather subjective to me.
In the end, I think, Freedom isn’t so much tied to a fixed and finite number as it is a very personal and circumstance-specific mindset. While writing this, I received an email from a German colleague I’d never met, from our Alto Partners Global alliance:
I am now about to enter a new chapter in my life – some might call it retirement – for me it is about the freedom to shape the next chapter on my own terms. There are many exciting and inspiring life alternatives out there and I am very much looking forward to pursuing some of them. I will stay in touch with my partners in Germany and around the world. If I can ever be of help to anyone – please feel free to give me a call!
Baader-Meinhof, is that you??
I have dear friends from across the spectrum of ‘inspiring life alternatives,’ each having found meaning in that next chapter. One, who expertly sold the firm he’d built and is gracefully retiring to island life. Even hired a gardening coach! Another, who nearing 80-years of age, is everywhere. Retired, sure, but at every cocktail reception, golf trip, annual meeting, and rubber chicken Chamber lunch. Still another who says, with conviction, he wants to work well into his 70s. And yet another, a Geologist, who did well on a grant of founder shares and retired in his 40s, some 25 years ago. Even those packaged out never to fully return, eventually find peace. Except, it seems, for that man in the park.
For him, what defined him, what made him relevant, was singularly and exclusively his vocation. Bob Dylan said, “if you ain’t got nothin,’ you ain’t got nothin’ to lose.” It follows, then, that if you only have one thing, once lost, you are too. For many, their job isn’t just what they do, it’s who they are. Their identity, their self-esteem, their entire sense of purpose are tied to their trade. Retirement, for them, is like a transplant where the body rejects the organ.
And this, my friends, is why it’s good to have hobbies and interests and, if I may be so bold, to like your spouse. Choose wisely. Bonus points if your spouse likes you. It’s also useful to know how to operate a calculator, especially if you have kids who, in today’s Canada, will either move back home, never leave home, need help buying their own home, or some combination of the three. It could be your faith, your family, or your friendships that anchor you but if you don’t want to be adrift, make sure you’re tethered to something. Anything, really. And, as long as I’m at it, I think you need to figure out what you want to do, not what others expect you to do. What gives you meaning, not what gives you validation. Back to Sandra’s article:
“The end of our careers is an emotional time. We’re often faced with decisions we don’t know how to make or questions we don’t know the answers to. We might think we want one thing – like continuing to work, taking on Board positions, or retiring altogether – and then realize after a few weeks or months, that the reality is very different. We feel torn between the need to stay busy and relevant, and the desire to slow down and do different things after a whole career filled with challenging responsibilities.”
Retirement is no longer just a phase reserved for the elderly. Many now aim to retire earlier in life, focusing on financial independence and securing freedom sooner. We are experiencing a cultural shift that values the accumulation of memories and experiences over material wealth and societal status. He who dies with the largest pile no longer wins, leading people to save for earlier exits from the workforce and longer next chapters, whatever they may be.
I, for one, have a list of places I’d like to see, things I’d like to do, books I’d like to read, and people I’d like to hang with, that is longer than the time I have to see, do, read, and hang. I think I will absolutely excel at retirement. Like, I will crush it. But we’re not there yet. Still lots to do around here and, luckily, still enjoy doing it. Working with a group of colleagues I like and admire, doing important work for our clients and community that brings me meaning and keeps me feeling, well, relevant.
Still a few holes left to go. Playing well and having fun. That cold beer in the clubhouse can wait.
Regards,
Adam
