“Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face.” That is the best Mike Tyson quote there is, and last night, it felt like I took a heavy one right to the jaw.

My plan—and let me reiterate, it was my plan—was for me to retire at 54 or 55. My plan for Padme (my wife) was that she would to work at least until she turned 50 and then decide what she wanted to do as outlined not long ago in the post The Diverging Path: When Your Spouse Isn’t Ready to Leave the Empire

In my mind, my part of the timeline wasn’t nearly as important as Padme hitting that 50-year mark at her workplace. Getting to 50 is the “Magic Number” because she has a Defined Pension Plan. If she hits 50 plus a day, she can receive a reduced pension immediately. If she leaves at 50 minus a day, she can’t touch a cent of it until she’s 60.

This pension is the rock that our (okay, really mine) retirement plan is built upon. It’s the steady stream of income that makes the “early” part of early retirement feasible. Without it, the math changes from a comfortable stroll to a calculated scramble.

The Swing from One Extreme to Another

In the last couple of days, I was taken from one extreme to another. Padme’s Chancellor suddenly quit. This was a job Padme had applied for just two years ago and was the runner-up for. At the time, we were actually thankful she didn’t get it because the corporation was heading into incredibly turbulent waters. The role has become a massive slog lately, characterized by political fighting and systemic burnout.

I was fairly certain she wouldn’t apply a second time. But then, after a recent work trip, she hinted she was considering it. As a spouse, you learn how your partner thinks. You learn the cadence of their “maybe” and the weight of their silence. After hearing a few comments over two or three days, I was starting to come to grips with her applying.

I was mentally preparing for the stress that comes with a even higher pressure role. The job is a “chance of a lifetime” if that’s your thing, and she certainly has the capability to do it. All the signs I read had her leaning toward taking another shot at it.

The grind at her work has been especially rough these last three months. It’s happened before and usually gets better with time, but the Chancellor leaving was the straw that broke the camel’s back. To see her boss leave after such a short tenure took an unexpected psychological toll. She was rattled more then we both knew.

She mentally just does not see any light at the end of the tunnel anymore. If there is an end to the current political issues at her work, it’s only after wading through neck deep crap for the next year or more.

She talked to a mentor—another high-functioning executive who gives her the kind of career guidance I simply can’t. After that conversation and a couple of Vader/Padme talks, I was fully prepared for her to say she was going for the role. I had braced for the “Chancellor’s Spouse” life.

Then, BAM.

She mentions she is thinking of leaving the company altogether.

Soon.

The Emotional Reverse

My gut twisted. I struggled, and I am still struggling. Logically, I will support whatever she wants to do. I love her more than I love the spreadsheet. But emotionally? I was not ready for that. The swing from thinking she was going for a career move to potentially not working at all was like slamming a car from 5th gear into reverse while going 70 mph. My clutch fell out on the highway.

Why did I struggle?

It comes down to our “number” and me being selfish. If she left tomorrow, it would be 15 months earlier than the plan for her to work until 50. It would shrink her yearly pension pay. Our “number” would take a not insignificant hit because our savings rate would drop through the floor. We basically live on my pay and save hers. Going from a well-paying job to nothing would hurt. Any new job she found likely wouldn’t pay as well as this one, given her seniority and the specific niche of her industry.

And then there’s that 10-year lock on her pension because she’d be leaving before 50. That is a decade of bridge funding we would have to find elsewhere.

I told myself: Okay Vader, suck it up. If the number is that important, you can just work longer to get there. That would put me closer to 58 before I retire

Padme makes a much better salary than I do. I would have to work twice as long to make up the difference her income provides. I am already struggling just to put in my time as it is, counting down the days like a prisoner. Tacking on another 3 or 4 years seems like a long friggin’ time when you’re already smelling the finish line.

I don’t want to.

I have been getting prepared to leave – in about 4 months. I have been coasting into this for at least the last year if not 2. I am having a hard time lying in this bed that i have made.

Start the internal tantrum.

The Moving Goalposts

In my mind, we were going to hit our minimum number, our goalposts, in five months. But deep down, I “knew” Padme would work at least another year to get to her pension and likely two more because I thought she wanted to. She was never really as obsessed with this early retirement world as I was.

So, while my goalpost was “X,” in my head I had already moved it to 1.1 or 1.2 “X” before she left. The Dark Side—the emotional side—had moved the goalposts without admitting it to the logical side.

Then fear took over. The “enough” fear we all have close to retirement.

I struggled to sleep. Padme could tell she threw me for a loop. She knows to let me process, but I am wrestling with it. One side of me wants to tell her to gut out those 15 months. It’s just over a year. She’s done it for years; surely she can do 15 more months? The other side—which I admit is a lot smaller right now—is saying to do what is right for her. If that means leaving to preserve her sanity, then she should leave.

Then all the fear of being retired comes back. I never thought we would both be off at the same time. I have my own mental baggage (surprise, surprise) to figure out regarding my identity outside of work, and I always thought I’d do that on my own while she was still working. I wanted that “house to myself” period to decompress.

And I’ll say it, though I’m not proud: it just feels “wrong” for her to be off before me when she’s five years younger. It’s an ugly, petty feeling. I know I shouldn’t feel that way, but the feeling exists regardless of my permission.

Is This a Team Sport?

Can we both be off with kids in Grade 9 and 11? What would we even do? We can’t exactly travel freely with the kids at this age without disrupting their lives. I can see the wheels spinning for Padme, too. We just booked a family vacation that’s costing us $6K. We spend a lot of money on lifestyle.

She isn’t usually money-conscious because, frankly, we haven’t had to be for a long time. Yes we are blessed and extremely fortunate. Work for her hasn’t been about the money… until now. Now the math matters.

I finally see what she might have been struggling with when I was off work or talking about being retired. It’s not jealousy, but something else. It’s the friction of: Why am I working my ass off while you have your feet up?

It shows that this retirement vision hasn’t been a totally team sport. It means we are really good individuals on a team, working toward scoring and keeping our own separate stats. The “Plan” is actually just two individual plans taped together.

I am surprised how hard this hit me. The security aspect, the scarcity feeling of not having enough coming in—cue the Dark Side, it depressed me.

Lately, I have been more “lumpy” than I like to admit. It’s been a cold winter and an ankle injury has kept me more couch-bound than normal, which always lets the brain overthink. I was struggling before this without really knowing why; this just tipped me further over the edge than it should have.

It’s dumb. The logic side thinks we have enough. But the “Plan” was wrapped into part of my identity. It’s the ego of the plan not being met that hurts. Like a punch in the face. So where do we go from here? More open conversations. More putting these thoughts on the table, even the ugly ones. We need to go through this struggle together.

I just didn’t think the retirement plan was ever in danger.

Until now

Down but not out?