Week 6 — You Have Done What?

Approaching another birthday, my 39th, I had made one big change to my life in the UK. Rather than being envious of colleagues doing the same job as me, but being paid a whole lot more, I was now one of them. Returning from South America, I made a conscious decision. I was now a contractor. A freelancer. It would have been much easier to fall back into the “salaried employee” rut, but no, I didn’t want to. And if I keep learning one thing through my life, it is that you can do the things you choose to do.

It took a little up front work. Admin type stuff, which is the one thing I hate above most all else. But I was now a contract project manager. Albeit an unemployed one. I just needed to secure myself a contract now.

“Hey, how are you? Long time no see. Where have you been? Not seen you around here for a while”

“I’ve been travelling around South America. Since December.”

“Wow. That’s great. I have always wanted to see South America. I dream of seeing Machu Picchu.”

“Yeah, it really is amazing. Quite breathtaking.”

“I bet. You must have used all your holidays up then? How did this place allow you to take so long off?” This place being the bank we both worked at, with the conversation taking place in the onsite coffee shop. Home of very mediocre coffee and weak tea. Site of many conversations we had had over the years. Yes, looking back, I really did spend a large part of my life at that organisation.

“Ah, no, you see, I resigned.”

“What? You just left? What about your job? Weren’t you afraid?”

“I was afraid. Afraid of having this conversation in 10 years time. With me telling somebody that I had always dreamed of seeing Machu Picchu. So, I decided I was going to see Machu Picchu. And booked a flight. Seeing Machu Picchu is now a reality for me. And I can dream about something else. I hope to be moving to Australia in about a year’s time.”

“That is brilliant. But what about your job? You will just quit again?”

“When I came back from travelling I decided to become a contractor. So I can try and work a few contracts. Then when I am ready to go to Australia, I will just work my current contract out. Pack up my things, and go.”

“You make it all sound so simple. I am very, very jealous. A contractor as well. Earning triple what we earn, and doing the same job.”

This last bit said with a little less sincerity than the earlier part of our conversation.

“I’d love to be a contractor.”

“Go and do it then. Go upstairs and resign. Then go out and find a contract. It really is as simple as that. That is all I did.”

This was met with a visible blanching of the face.

“Oh god no, far too risky.”

And I have to admit, this is where I switched off. Tuned out from the conversation. If I had a pound for every time I had heard this as a reason not to branch out as a freelancer, I would be able to afford a very good steak dinner. With a bottle of 2014 Hunter Valley shiraz.

When I said that I didn’t want to look back in 10 years time with regrets, I was able to trace this feeling back to a conversation that actually happened, in 1994, on the first floor of an old converted carpet mill. This was in Halifax, whilst working at the bank of the same name. Of the town, not the carpet mill. I can remember that conversation like it was yesterday. Chatting to an “older” lady, who was probably much younger than I am right now, about my dream of travelling.

At this point in my life, I had only ever been overseas twice. Both before I was 20. And both for a grand duration of 7 days. My more mature colleague (let’s not say older) said she had one regret. She probably had a lot more, but we were only going to talk about one today. Her regret was having a large desire to travel when she was in her twenties. Then not taking the opportunity, and life subsequently took over. As life has a tendency to do. I remember thinking, “I am not going to be you, in 20 years time”. And the direction of my life took a turn for the better, that very afternoon.

Some 6 months later, I was on that Qantas plane, sat next a mate of mine who I had roped in to the adventure with me, making a steady descent into Sydney Kingsford Smith airport. With a 12 month working holiday visa in my passport, and adventure in my heart, I was entering the unknown.

It wouldn’t be the last time in my life.