Leaving the Cube Farm
Adam Seitchik
October 2003
I’ve been whining to friends and family about corporate life from the day I signed on thirteen years ago. Like my hero Thoreau I desired a “wide margin” – time to read, to think, to write, to find something in myself which is more enduring than what he called the fashionable pursuits of the day. Of course, dropping out of the rat race is a widespread middle-age fantasy. Alas for me and for most, the goddess of money reared her ugly head, and she brings with her the laborious, alienating prime directive of earning cash.
Now along these streets paved with gold I did meet a few alternative types. Years ago there was a colleague, call him Dave, who rode a moped to save money on gas, collected deposit bottles after every work party, and played tennis from 5-7 AM in order to scrimp on court fees. Occasionally he would splurge on his girlfriend, shelling out $2 to watch a classic movie on his ancient VCR player. His clothes came from the thrift shop. Most days he sported a stained and discarded McDonalds work shirt, worn with a sense of irony lost on most of his colleagues. We made fun of his ways, but hey, Dave owned his own home, had a moped and a girlfriend, watched old movies, played tennis indoors and I assume retired at 35. What else do you need in this material world, except for a library card?
I did sense that Dave’s relationship with his girlfriend was a bit Mosquito Coast, as his will-to-frugality dominated over that quiet, mousy soul. He was a big, goofy, burly fellow (beards and long hair save $$$ on razor blades and haircuts). Weighing down the moped, I remember him puttering out of the work parking lot, the girlfriend somewhat morosely strapped around his pathetic little engines.
In my vanity I believed I could bully my way down Dave’s path, but chose instead a more evolved, democratic relationship with my materialist wife and children. In truth, the facts on the ground show that I pursued the bohemian bourgeois (bobo) lifestyle with gusto, whilst talking a Thoreauvian game. So earn cash I did, spending, saving, investing, but always with an eye on the elusive prize: I was going to somehow be middle class and out of the rat race.
Now, after too many years in Dilbert’s cube farm I’ve earned enough, cashed in my chips. We’ve known since the publication of Thornstein Veblen’s Theory of the Leisure Class in the late 19th century that there is no glory in this, that “enough” is a relative term placing you as well or better off than whoever you define as your status peer group. I’m no thrifty Dave, it’s just that my kids are in public schools, my debt is down, and I think I’ll be able to materially keep up with my neighborhood Jones, at least for a time. But in a life built on convention, quitting my job means there’s no one to validate my choices. We bobos are social animals – we may live near Walden Pond, but still hump it to work every morning. Now that I’ve checked out, whom do I talk to about checking out?
This would be easier in Cambridge. When I started the corporate grind I lived there, and I stuck out like a soldier in uniform in my business suit every morning, hustling to catch the Red Line for downtown. Out here in the burbs it’s all guys driving to work in suits. During the work day their wives come over to chat with my wife, and I’m a bit in the way. Any guys out there under 55 who are neither employed, looking for a job or living in a halfway house? Want to meet me at the village Starbucks on Tuesday, say around 11:00 AM?
I know, I know, there’s plenty of good work to do. I wish to “aim high,” as Thoreau said, because a man will surely not go anywhere he doesn’t point to. But after more than a dozen years of behavior conditioned by the corporate lash, freedom could bring some bad old habits back to the surface. Wealth creation is fueled by three of the seven deadly sins: pride, greed and envy. Now I’m free to choose gluttony, lust and sloth (I’ve led too charmed a life to have much anger). To avoid this end I need a new master: me. So I’m getting a bulletin board for my home office, and filling it with a bunch of timeless virtues and spiritual aphorisms. I may have been rescued from the corporate world, but now I have to save myself from myself…well, it’s been fun talking with you but I gotta get back to work. Hope to see you around.