I was in Chicago earlier this week delivering a workshop on retirement studies. The room was full with about fifty people there and some standing against the wall.
When the workshop was over a few people hung around to ask questions. One man lingered until everyone was gone. “Cam,” he said, “I left engineering several years ago to become a financial advisor. I enjoy my work. My engineering skills have been helpful as a financial advisor, but still today, when people ask me what I do, I tell them I’m an engineer who is now a financial advisor. I’m having a hard time letting go of my engineering identity. Do you have any thoughts why?”
I said that becoming an engineer is not easy. That degree requires a lot of time and sacrifice and engineers are rightly proud of their training. “Yeah,” he said, “but I’m not an engineer anymore.”
I remembered a story that may offer insight. After the Second World War, the remaining Japanese soldiers were struggling to transition to the post-war world. The Emperor of Japan gathered them and told them, in a somewhat formal ceremony, that he and the nation were very proud and grateful for their work as soldiers. They had served their country well and had done everything they had been asked to do. However, the emperor said, "the country no longer needs soldiers. It needs builders and men of the community and husbands and fathers. You’re released, the emperor said, from your role as soldier. Go now be something that your country needs today.
Maybe, I told the guy in front of me, he needs to release himself from being an engineer so he can fully be a financial advisor. Perhaps he should carry a piece of paper for a week and write down every part of him that was an engineer on that paper and keep adding to the list. Carry a second sheet and the engineer parts of him that will serve him as an advisor need to be added to the second sheet. After he’s filled the engineer page and exhausted his thoughts, burn that paper. Do it with a bit of ceremony. Put his old self to rest. He’s no longer that person. He’s something new, and he’s given himself permission to move on like the emperor gave the soldiers permission to move on.
The man in front of me eyes were wet. He said, “If I knew you better, I’d be crying right now.” It was clear that he was really struggling to let go of his former self.
What is it about our identity and our past that we cling to so tightly? What is it about how we formerly defined ourselves that we can’t let it go? What’s this deep hold that our job and our background have on us so much so that we seek permission from strangers to transition away? This man’s struggle touched me because, I think, deep down, I recognize that it will be mine, too.
I’m Cam Marston, just trying to Keep It Real.
