I have had the unique experience in life to have explored two completely different worlds. The first path was that of a professional career; the other path as a well-paid blue collar assembly line worker.
There are two obvious things that separate these two worlds. One is that a professional career requires an investment of money and time, while an assembly line job does not. The other is that, as an assembly line worker, I made significantly more money than I did as a professional, with better benefits. While this isn’t always the case for all jobs and professions, it was the case for me and the sole reason why, in 2002, I abandoned my professional career for a production assembly line job.
My professional career was in IT. I provided technical support, fixed Y2k problems, performed upgrades and conversions, wrote new code, designed new procedures and programs, and more. I thoroughly enjoyed the work that I did and the people I interacted with. I had a lot in common with others in this industry, so it was only natural that I found the work and people so enjoyable. I enjoyed buying my clothes from Tip Top Tailors and felt good wearing a shirt and tie. The only drawback was the money. It seemed that I could make no more than $42,000 a year; after the Nortel layoffs, $35,000 a year chasing contracts was typical. This is why, when given the opportunity to work on an assembly line for $60,000-$80,000 plus a year, I walked away from my career.
I traded my Oxfords for a pair of steel toes; my Britches and polo shirts for Levis and T-shirts. No more research, networking, and planning; everything would be taken care of for me. All I had to do was show up for my shift on time, put in 8 hours of manual labour, then leave. Even investment strategies for retirement were out of my hands; after 30 years and at age 60, I would retire in comfort on the company pension plan. The company hadn’t hired in two decades, so my seniority was sure to get me some good (meaning easier) jobs in a few short years. I felt as though I had won the lottery.
Blinded by the good money rolling into my bank account, I didn’t notice the changes happening in me until around year four. That’s when I started to reflect. The jobs I did weren’t necessarily strenuous, but they were highly repetitive and busy. As such, I would work for hours at a stretch in constant motion, repeating the same maneuvers over and over again. After a couple of weeks, the brain did not need to be engaged; the job became as automatic as walking. I could literally perform the job with my eyes closed (something which I actually tried). The problem with this is that my brain is never off. My thoughts would tend to wander from one topic to another. I would have to listen to music; eventually, I started listening to talking books and podcasts, because even the music became as monotonous and repetitive as the tasks I was performing. I enjoyed classics like 1984 and Moby Dick; as a consequence of listening to this type of thing, I started to reflect upon my own life. Doing so led to the discovery that the seed of discontent had taken root and grown. This is when I discovered the darker side of what my life had become.
When working at an assembly line job, I was not living in the present, but rather was always looking forward to some future event – the weekend, a Spa week, shutdown, and most importantly, my retirement. There really were two types of people working in that factory. There were those who had made the factory their entire life, and there were those who were counting down the days to their retirement. I couldn’t make the factory my life, because I had already experienced so much more, and I had little in common with my co-workers. This meant that I would become one of those people who would be counting down the days to my retirement. When talking to these kinds of people, they couldn’t believe how they got to be so old, so fast. What really hit home was the statistic that demonstrated the average life expectancy of a retiree was 18 months. I saw men killed by a heart attack a week from retirement. I felt as though I was becoming the walking dead.
I realized that I had sold out, trading a vivid and interesting career for what amounted to a pair of golden handcuffs. As the weeks and months flew past, I could see myself aging. Life, for me, was blurring by and I was no longer an active participant. I often wondered about my former colleagues, and saw people just like them living on half the money I was making, and they were genuinely happy. Their house wasn’t as big or nice, or maybe they didn’t even own a house. Some didn’t even own a car, or if they did it wasn’t anything special. That’s when I realized, happiness doesn’t come from how much money a person can earn or how many nice things they can buy. It comes from doing what one genuinely enjoys doing, and adjusting ones material lifestyle to match. That’s why I was happier as a $35,000 a year contract tech guy than an $80,000 a year assembly line worker. When I was the tech guy, I was living in the moment; actively planning my future. There was a sense of pride and accomplishment, and I really felt good about myself. No car, house, or material possession could replace that, and I missed the person I once was.
Luckily for me, fortune favours the foolish, and the right things happened at the right time. The company had shut down a plant after negotiating a new contract, and eventually had to offer everyone a buyout. At the same time, the Ontario Government implemented a “Second Career” program, offering people like me a grant for education. I knew right away what I had to do. I accepted the buyout package and went back to College to get a new career on track. I’m back to living in the moment, looking forward to taking my place in the driver’s seat of my life every day. I savour every moment; each and every test, essay, and assignment. I may not ever see the money or benefits I had with that factory again, but I couldn’t be happier.