The moment arrived. After years of planning my early retirement, I couldn’t have scripted the situation if I tried. In early January 2023, I sat down with my manager, the President of my division, for yet another routine reorganization discussion.

Decades in tech leadership made these reorganization meetings as predictable as clockwork. Another restructure, another role shuffle – the familiar dance of corporate (r)evolution.

As she outlined the changes and described my new role, I knew the moment had come. Accepting this position while planning my exit wouldn’t serve anyone. My path led elsewhere.

My retirement announcement at the age of 51 rippled through professional circles from spring into summer, sparking reactions from genuine congratulations to barely disguised skepticism.

In tech, when executives announce they’re - leaving to spend more time with family - eyebrows raise and air quotes appear. My case offered no hidden agenda, no competing offer, no dramatic exit – simply a planned step into the next phase of my life.

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Understanding this decision requires stepping back to 1995, when I entered the software industry fresh from engineering school. The tech landscape stood at the beginning of a remarkable inflection point. None of us could have predicted its explosive trajectory over the next three decades.

Technology captivated me long before my career began. As a kid, I became the neighborhood’s unauthorized mechanic, dismantling my grandmother’s lawnmower and any appliance within reach. This wasn’t the endearing hobby my grandmother envisioned – her tolerance for my mechanical explorations wore thin with each disassembled device.

But that drive to understand how things worked couldn’t be contained. The real transformation came at twelve, when I encountered my first computer, the Commodore 64. That beige box opened a portal to a virtual world where creation seemed limitless.

Years later, landing my first software job rekindled that excitement. The rush of building and problem-solving felt so rewarding, I would have done it without pay. The industry offered endless opportunities to create, solve, and build.

The move to management came gradually, almost inevitably, in the second half of my career. Leadership brought its own rewards – mentoring teams, scaling impact, shaping product direction. Each step up the corporate ladder moved me further from that pure joy of creation that first drew me to technology.

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Like many in tech leadership, I operated on career autopilot. Each promotion led to another, each reorganization opened new opportunities, each role brought increased responsibility. I mastered the art of career planning – the political navigation of corporate structures, the strategic moves between roles. Life planning never entered the equation. Retirement loomed as a distant concept, too remote to warrant consideration.

In 2016, I discovered a concept that fundamentally shifted my perspective – the FIRE movement. Financial Independence, Retire Early hadn’t yet become a household name, but its message jolted me awake. I first encountered it through Mr. Money Mustache’s blog, where Pete Adeney described what seemed an absurd lifestyle. Living on a fraction of my income? Retiring decades early? Impossible.

Pete’s message burrowed into my consciousness. It evoked a story about Kurt Vonnegut and Joseph Heller at a billionaire’s party on Shelter Island. Vonnegut told Heller their hedge fund manager host had earned more in one day than Heller’s “Catch-22” had earned in its entire history. Heller replied, “Yes, but I have something he will never have… enough.”* That concept of “enough” – knowing when you’ve hit your target – became my new north star.

These revelations prompted me to look at my superiors differently. The senior leaders, whose roles marked my presumed next career steps, no longer embodied success. Their lives, once the blueprint for achievement, lost their appeal. The endless meetings, constant travel, perpetual organizational shuffles – did I want this life for another decade plus?

The math of early retirement proved straightforward once my wife and I focused on it. The emotional equation challenged us more. I craved control of my time, the freedom to choose my projects, the chance to rediscover that joy of creation I’d first found in front of a Commodore 64. Yet I couldn’t articulate how this new life would unfold.

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Retiring in July 2023 launched a transition both challenging and rewarding beyond expectation. The first six months delivered an unexpected lesson: after nearly three decades of externally structured schedule, true freedom demands its own kind of adjustment.

At first, I attempted to recreate my corporate environment at home. I crafted detailed schedules, blocked time with corporate precision, and measured my days against traditional productivity metrics. Old habits die hard – especially those reinforced by years of quarterly objectives and performance reviews.

I realized I still measured success by someone else’s standards. The same drive that propelled my career now blocked the freedom I’d worked so hard to achieve. I needed to unlearn as much as I needed to learn.

I declared a one-year moratorium on significant commitments. Beyond declining advisory roles and consulting opportunities – though my ego protested – I needed to give myself permission to explore without purpose, learn without deliverables, exist without metrics.

New patterns started to emerge. My best days evolved into those that allowed space for curiosity rather than packed schedules. Working on my off-road truck, experimenting with 3D printing, dabbling in woodworking, or diving back into programming – these projects rekindled that feeling of pure creation I’d lost. Free from deadlines and stakeholder expectations, I could pursue learning for its own sake.

The corporate world conditioned me to view time as a scarce resource requiring optimization. Now, time feels abundant, but only when I resist the urge to fill every moment with purpose. Some days, a long walk with the dogs or an extended workout becomes the day’s achievement – not because it’s scheduled, but because it feels right.

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For the first time in decades, I don’t know what’s next – and I’m learning to embrace uncertainty. Travel plans and project lists stretch into the future, but without a prescribed path to follow. No title to chase, no organizational ladder to climb. Shedding these expectations feels both liberating and terrifying.

This journey into the unknown demands confronting long-held fears. Writing tops that list. An inner critic questioning my worth as a writer has kept me silent for years. Yet I’m discovering that growth awaits beyond discomfort. This blog represents my commitment to learning in public, sharing my exploration of life after the corporate world, even when – especially when – I don’t have it all figured out.

The path ahead remains uncertain. Yet the same curiosity that led me to dismantle my grandmother’s lawnmower, that drew me to that first computer, that guided me through a technology career, now pulls me forward into this next chapter. The difference? The only metrics that matter are the ones I choose for myself.