{"id":28401,"date":"2017-10-17T19:56:08","date_gmt":"2017-10-17T18:56:08","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/ourtour.co.uk\/home\/?p=28401"},"modified":"2021-06-19T19:35:39","modified_gmt":"2021-06-19T18:35:39","slug":"5-week-countdown-to-retirement-number-3","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/ourtour.co.uk\/home\/5-week-countdown-to-retirement-number-3\/","title":{"rendered":"5 Week Countdown to Retirement Number 3"},"content":{"rendered":"

Our lives are more than a bit weird you know. In 5 weeks (give or take a day or two), I’ll ‘retire’ again. Sort of.\u00a0 Ju’s kept this blog updated since we got back, but I’ve not much felt like it to be honest. Here’s my take on what we’ve been up to, and what comes next.<\/p>\n

Before we came back from the last 18 month wander<\/a>, an old boss of mine asked a time or two if I’d come and do some work for him. The big old multi-national energy company we both worked for had split in two, and he was working for the ‘other half’. From past experience I know splitting the IT systems out would be a MAHOOSIVE<\/strong> job, and that they’d not have the people to do it – cue pound signs spinning in the eyeballs of us contractors.<\/p>\n

Or should I say ‘us ex-contractors’, as I was officially done with it<\/a>, retiring two years back aged 43 (how<\/a>?). To start off with, I politely declined. I didn’t need the money, we’re still saving maybe 20%-odd of our passive income, even in ‘retirement’, so we are doing fine. But. There was a small problem.<\/p>\n

\"Our

Our trusty chariot outside the power station I’m working alongside<\/p><\/div>\n

We’d started to head back towards the UK at this point, and I was frankly having a small panic. It turns out you need an imagination to retire in your 40’s, and mine was proving lacking. What would I do back home? An enormous void stretched out – the opportunity to have a go at pretty much anything, but rather than feel elated, this put the monkeys right up me.<\/p>\n

Yep, there’d be a round of meeting friends and family, but once things had settled down again, just what did I want to do??? This unbridled freedom is sometimes like holding up a well-lit mirror to my naked body – it really shows me who I am, and sometimes this ain’t particularly comfortable. Not having work as an excuse not to do stuff can be a bit of a swine at times (hey, I expect no sympathy!) – you have to admit to yourself you’ve not got the courage, are too lazy, or simply have no imagination. None of it self-affirming.<\/p>\n

So I caved in. Heading back to work was the easy thing to do.<\/p>\n

The other part of it is the money. I know, I said we didn’t need it, and we don’t, but it’s great money, very tempting indeed. The work’s not massively difficult, and there is always the idea in the back of my mind of having an even bigger safety net than the one we already have. Although our finances have been spreadsheeted to death<\/a>, there is no guarantee of ‘success’ in the early retirement world. It’s unlikely we’d be forced back to work, but we can’t anticipate every single eventuality.<\/p>\n

We’d also agreed between each other that when we started all of this, that we’d want to work again, perhaps to pay for one-off fun stuff and crazy mad luxuries either of us fancied. We’ve not lined anything up yet, but watch this space.<\/p>\n

So after 2 or 3 weeks back home, I donned work shirts gifted by my father-in-law (from a friend of his who buys them and never wears them, go figure), and driving a car loaned by my mother-in-law; fantastic folks the both of ’em. The job’s about 30 to 60 minutes down the M1, through the roadworks to offices next to a power station the company owns. They’re my old offices again, a place where I just about snapped from stress in the past, but that was in the dim and distant, and this time I was wearing jeans and determined not to let it get to me.<\/p>\n

The job’s required me to head to Germany three times to head quarters in Dusseldorf (which should be fun, but isn’t – think working breakfast, 17 hour days and being crammed on a bouncy little late night plane), but otherwise I’ve been in the office or working from the Cooler<\/a>. It’s a fairly easy going and slightly creative job, my boss leaves me to it, but is supportive as needed, and I get free tea and coffee.<\/p>\n

It’s still causing me no small amount of stress though, an interesting thing in itself. Why? Why do I end up with a tight chest and a strong desire to attack my Belgian beer stash every evening? Everyone’s very pleasant to work with, supportive and friendly, so why the stress?<\/p>\n

A bit of self-analysis:<\/p>\n