My WHY.

Everyone’s got a “why,” and usually, it’s the usual suspects: escaping the dreaded “rat race,” spending more time with family, pursuing passions, or jetting off on epic adventures. My “why” is just as cliché as everyone else’s, but let me tell you why I desperately need to bid farewell to my job and retire at the ripe old age of 45.

It hasn’t always been this way. Picture me, fresh-faced and clueless, graduating with my Masters in Accountancy, specializing in the thrilling world of Taxation (yeah, I know, what was I thinking?), at the tender age of 25. I had a job lined up with one of the Big 4 public accounting firms, ready to rake in a whooping $55k per year, and boy, was I psyched!

My first project whisked me off to the bright lights of NYC, where I lived it up for a whole year on the company’s dime. They covered my hotels, meals, and flights. I thought to myself, “Holy guacamole, this is the gig of a lifetime!”. I had so much fun in NYC that I promptly packed my bags and settled down in this concrete jungle.

Back in the Big Apple, my firm continued their generosity with happy hours, dinners, and pizza parties. Now, don’t get me wrong, we still had to work our tails off and put in the hours, but I didn’t mind. I was just having too much fun with my coworkers.

But alas, that dreamy scenario went down the drain faster than a soggy pizza crust. Those darn happy hours and pizza parties masked the fact that this job was, in reality, a big steaming pile of bleh. I was working my tail off and hating every minute of it.

You see, big public accounting firms have a knack for squeezing every ounce of life force from you. They create false deadlines and dump a mountain of projects on your desk, all in the name of maximizing billable hours.

I’ll never forget that one time I worked from 9 a.m. to 11 a.m. THE NEXT DAY just to meet a deadline. There were tears, prayers, and enough anger to power a small village for a week. And do you know what my boss handed me as a token of appreciation for pulling that insane shift? A bottle of Hendrick’s gin. I suppose they figured I needed it to drown my stress or maybe because they thought we were all about that happy hour life?

That job drove me to anxiety and stress levels that could rival a rollercoaster ride from hell. I eventually threw in the towel and took a year-long break. I was a mess, popping blood pressure pills like candy and shelling out heaps of money for therapy.

But guess what? I ended up back in the arms of another Big Four accounting firm after my sabbatical. I tried venturing into a different industry, but let’s just say it didn’t pan out. And wouldn’t you know it, this was right at the beginning of the pandemic. Cue the endless hours of work. I was trapped at home, and my supervisor assumed I was available 24/7. I once received a “quick question” message at midnight, and it spiraled into a Zoom call marathon that lasted until 3 a.m. My team loved creating false deadlines just to pile more work on me. It got so bad that my vision started seeing doubles, a sure sign that my stress and blood pressure were through the roof.

But hey, there was a silver lining toiling away at a public accounting firm – I eventually got hired by one of the clients. The hours are a major improvement, but let’s be real – I still can’t stand the work. I feel like I’m wasting my precious time on a career that’s sucking the soul right out of me. I’m constantly battling anxiety, worrying that I’ll be forever trapped in this soul-sucking abyss. It’s mentally exhausting. I might need therapy for the rest of my life at this rate!

That’s why I’ve set my sights on retiring by the time I hit 45. I need to create some serious me-time to pursue my goals and escape this vicious cycle.

Now, I know there will always be those who say, “You are #blessed to have a job in NYC! Just count your blessing. Namaste blábláblá”. But seriously, at what cost? My health and sanity?

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