I could talk about the growing pressures of playing a tactical role in a startup that is skyrocketing at a meteoric pace. I could relay the stresses of answering to investors who have placed over $50M worth of trust in us. I could bring up the growing internal politics, silos, egos, and other challenges of a company about to pass three hundred employees. I am not leaving for any of these reasons. I happen to enjoy the people I work with. I tend to thrive under pressure and surf the wave to get shit done. Early on I recognized that I am not a strategic player, I am a tactical one. I love what I did at work so these are not the reasons I left.
To get a better sense of why I did leave, I think we need some context. Let’s take a look at what my workdays were like. Mornings are an important part of my day. I force myself up in the darkness of 5 AM in a discipline to achieve the daily goal: to get better. I am alone in these early hours. I mindfully write out (in cursive) the things I am grateful for. I sit quietly in peaceful meditation. This is followed by lifting weights for about an hour or on some days go for a run.
After my elaborate morning routine, I hear my daughter’s voice echo through the house. She’s starting to discover the octaves—and volume—of her young voice. She does this with and without her hands in her mouth. When I find her I shout “GOOD MORNINNNNGG!” at which she scans the room triangulating the source of the familiar sound to find my face and upon doing so returns a big smile. The smile invariably melts my heart. I kiss her and sometimes hold her for a few minutes until I have to jump into the shower.
Once I’m ready, I hit the kitchen where my amazing wife and daughter are. I fix my breakfast and lunch and spend a while longer with them until I jump in my car and continue on to my day at work. Fast forward to the end of the day. I get home and am able to spend on most days less than an hour with my daughter before her bedtime.
This is not parenting. This is not what I want her to remember. Instead, I want her to look back and think “my dad was always there,” even if she says it with a sigh. I look at it this way: No matter how much more money I would make in the next few years, I know I would happily trade that amount for the time I would lose with my family.
To be clear, this was not a sacrifice; it was an upgrade. I may now have less, but I also have much, much more. The reason I left the company I started had little to do with work and everything to do with life. Family is why we work hard. It was an easy call.
All we have is a collection of seconds. I know where I want to spend mine.
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Read more from Rob Imbeault, here on GMP.
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