How FIRE led me to Burnout

For a physician, I think and talk and write a lot about taking time off.  Two years ago, I committed to taking vacation every three months, and I have done a pretty good job of sticking to that ever since (I even took an extra vacation this year!).  I talk to trainees all the time about taking time away from work in order to maintain their mental health and have some joy in their lives.  So, until recently, I really thought I had the right mindset with respect to so-called work-life balance.

Except...underlying everything has been the idea of FIRE.  Work my ass off for a few years, save as much as possible, and then run away to a life of complete freedom and constant joy.  The dream!  While I still allowed myself vacations, the desire to have enough money to retire as soon as possible led me to make other bad decisions that were perhaps worse than never taking time off.  Sure, I'll add more patients to my already overbooked clinic.  Sure, I'll take on some lucrative contract work that I don't have time for.  Sure, I can do an extra Friday afternoon clinic even though I'm barely clawing my way to the end of the week as it is.  I convinced myself that I was being a good doctor by seeing more patients, but if I'm being honest, the real driver was the extra money that could go directly into my retirement savings.

And so, as I've already written about, I crashed in a somewhat spectacular way.

I'm actually kind of thankful for the crash (or, at least I think I will be when I look back on it someday), because it has forced me to reevaluate my decisions.  And two big things have come out of my months of self reflection.  First, continuing to work at as a physician is the best option for me, at least in the present.  I have contemplated taking a significant chunk of time off or quitting to pursue another career altogether, but when I look at it in the most practical of ways, doing so doesn't make any financial sense.  I could go part-time as a physician and earn more than I would doing most other jobs.  In the years it would take me to study to do something else, I could work full-time as a physician and save up most of what I need to retire.  My current reality is that I need to work to pay bills and save for the future, and medicine is by far the most efficient way of doing that.  As an added bonus, I also often like my job, at least when things aren't as overwhelming as they have been recently.

Second, and probably the more important, is that I need to stop making my decisions from a place of fear.  While part of my motivation for achieving financial independence has been a desire to not work, most of it has been a desire to not need to work.  To know that, whatever illness or mental health crisis or government overhaul of the healthcare system may hit, I am going to be okay.  Because as a single person with no one else to rely on, I worry a lot about my financial future, even when there's zero necessity to do so.  And that is a really unpleasant and unhealthy approach to money.

Thankfully, things at work are starting to get better.  I have only one slightly overbooked clinic left, and my clinics are going to continue to get lighter over the next few months until I achieve a point of actually being slightly underbooked.  I'm at the point where I can usually get my work done within the 45 hour a week maximum I've set for myself.  I'm scheduled to start six days of call tomorrow, and I'm not having panic attacks or suffering from intractable insomnia.

There are moments when I'm actually enjoying my work and remembering why I became a physician in the first place.

So I am going to keep practicing at letting go of all the things that have been driving me to burnout.  Letting go of my obsessive tracking of my net worth.  Letting go of the countdown to retirement.  Letting go of the belief that the future is going to be so much better than the present, and the desire to burn through time in order to get there.

I'm going to try, as much as I can, to live in the now.  To enjoy what I have, to be grateful for all the good, and to simply breathe.

Solitary Diner is Famous!

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Living Now Instead of Ten Years From Now

I don't think I knew just how focused I was on my FIRE date until I started actively trying to not think about it.  Since adopting the "set it and forget it" approach to money, I have noticed that I think about FIRE all the time.

Waking up in the morning:  "In ten years, I won't have to set an alarm clock."
Seeing a difficult patient:  "After I FIRE, I won't have to see any patients at all."
Editing trainee dictations:  "I hate my life!  Woe is me!  This is the worst thing ever!"

(Also..."I will never have to edit another poorly written trainee dictation after I retire.")

It's...sad.  Here I am doing what I have trained most of my adult life to do, and I'm dreaming of what comes next.  And it isn't because I hate my job; it's because I have this idea that retirement is going to be so much better.  I've internalized the belief that work is just something you do to earn money before you can quit.

I'm trying really hard to stop.  Any time I catch myself thinking "I just earned enough to not have to work for three days", I am pausing, noticing the thought, and letting it go.  I'm trying to mentally be here, now, instead of when I retire in ten (or more) years.  Because constantly resenting the now and dreaming of later doesn't make anything better.

Set It And Forget It

I am really lucky to have had a Dad who was an insurance salesperson and later a financial advisor.  From the time I was a kid, we had long talks about money and economics and saving for the future.  I had a university savings account from the time I was five, and half of my $2 a week allowance got put into it.  When I turned 18, my Dad gave me a $500 RRSP and a copy of The Wealthy Barber for my birthday, complete with the advice to always put 10% of my earnings directly into savings.

"Even when I'm a university student and I can barely afford to pay my tuition", I asked?

Yes.  Even when I was a university student and I could barely afford to pay my tuition.  Always.

Along with the recommendation to save at least 10% of my earnings, my Dad advised me to "set it and forget it".  Pick a good investment vehicle (or vehicles), set up a monthly direct deposit, and then almost never look at it.  Check it every 3-6 months to make sure the investment strategy is still sound, adjust as necessary, and then ignore it.  Don't get caught up in the day to day fluctuations in the market, which cause people to make damaging emotional decisions, and just focus on long-term wealth building.

This strategy served me well.  I followed his advice through my 20s, and by the time I started medical school at 29 I had a nice chunk of savings, which I kept for retirement instead of putting towards school.  And I kept up the 10% rule through medical school and residency, so even though I became a wild spending machine, I was still building some savings.  (Although not nearly as rapidly as I was building debt, sadly.)  The best part of the "set it and forget it" advice was that I could do just that:  forget it.  I included savings in my budget, they came out automatically, and I could rest comfortable in the knowledge that I was preparing for the future.

All of that changed when I became an attending.  As a fee-for-service physician, I was no longer earning a regular paycheque.  The amount I took home fluctuated wildly depending on whether I was on call, how busy my clinics were, and whether I took vacation.  This year, for example, there was a four-fold difference between my best and my worst paid months.  I'm not complaining at all about how much I am paid - it's wonderful to earn enough to save over 2/3 of what I'm earning without having to adopt Frugalwoods-level frugality - but I have struggled a lot with the variability of my income.

In good months, when I am earning and savings lots, I feel great.  In months when I'm not on call or I lose a lucrative Monday clinic to a long weekend, I feel anxious.  What if I don't save as much as I normally do?  What if this is the beginning of a decline in my income, and I'm not going to be in a position to retire in 5-7 years?  What if I burn out and can't keep working until I FIRE?

I hate it.  I hate that I'm earning way more than I need to live and yet I'm just as anxious about money as ever.  I've tried not looking at my net worth, and it did help to reduce my anxiety, but I'm not very good at ignoring my net worth on an ongoing basis.  I'm good enough at mental math that I can generally estimate my net worth even if I'm not looking at my spreadsheet.

I've been thinking a lot about this anxiety, and I realized that a lot of it stems from having set a very aggressive FIRE target for myself.  Based on the amounts I've been saving to date, I could retire on a reduced budget in about 5 years and retire more comfortably in about 7 years.  So January 1, 2025 has become my tentative FIRE date.  But that FIRE date requires that things stay essentially the same.  It doesn't allow me to buy a house, nor does it account for the very real possibility that physician payments may be cut, or at the very least will not increase at the rate of inflation.   It's an anxiety-provoking FIRE date, rather than a liberating FIRE date.

So this weekend, I came up with a plan.  I've figured out how much I would need to save to FIRE in 10 years, when I will be 50, and it is about 2/3 of what I've been saving to date.  I'm going to take that amount and put 75% of it into investments and 25% of it towards repayment of my line of credit, thereby reducing my remaining time to pay off the LOC to another 4 years.  (Initially it was supposed to take 10 years, but thanks to a lump-sum payment this year and increasing my repayment rate, I've cut that by almost half.)  In the past year, I achieved this level of savings in all but two months (both big travel months), so it is a comfortable amount to set aside.  And I know that it is enough, so hopefully I can relax more knowing that I am meeting good savings targets.

The funny thing is, it won't really change much on a practical level.  I'm not going to go out and blow the 1/3 that I had previously been saving, as I am pretty happy with my current lifestyle.  Any extra money will simply go into a high-interest savings account, where it will act as a bit of a cushion for the months when I'm spending more or earning less than usual.  When it gets too big, I can either put it towards more investments or use it to pay down the debt more aggressively.  I'm not really changing how much I'm spending and saving, but I'm hoping that a bit of financial hocus-pocus will allow me to stop thinking about it so much and just focus on enjoying life.

Feeding my Wanderlust

A few months ago, I was faced with the decision between going to a scientific conference in Boston this Fall or one in Paris in the Spring.  I have been to Boston before, and I didn't really love it, so I was slightly underwhelmed by the thought of going back.  And then there's the fact that the US is currently being led by a misogynistic, racist, xenophobic, fascist twat, which really makes me want to avoid the country altogether. 

Mais Paris?  Les boulangeries et les cafés et les beaux musées?  Bien sur!

So I booked three weeks off in the Spring, bought myself a travel guide to France, and committed myself to becoming fluent-ish in French before I go.  That's why I am here in Quebec City, speaking French poorly and savouring every last minute before le taxi whisks me away to the airport and back to my real life.

Going home feels really hard.  This morning I wandered along la rue Cartier, which is only minutes from my Airbnb, and I saw so many places I had wanted to visit but couldn't because of lack of time.  So many pain au chocolats that I didn't get to eat.  As I sat in a café drinking the best coffee I've ever had in my life, I wanted desperately to be able to stay.

As much as I love my home city and all of the people there, I am realizing that I really want to live elsewhere.  Not only for a week, but for long enough to really know a place.  To try every restaurant and wander every street and speak the language so much that I start to think in it.  I want to immerse myself in newness and difference long enough for it to become familiar.

Unfortunately, I haven't exactly chosen a career that makes this possible.  I am very subspecialized, making my job market very small.  There is no mid-sized town in France that is looking for one of me, and even Paris would be a hard place to find a job.  Not to mention the fact that communication is a rather essential part of being a physician, and I know almost no medical terms in French.  And I can't understand 90% of what people say to me in French.

Yet.

More than that is the fact that I am not a brave person.  While some people have the personality that allows them to quit their job and move to a different country with only a backpack of stuff, I am not one of those people.  I crave savings and an emergency fund* and insurance of every kind**.  As much as I long for difference, I am also most comfortable with the familiar.  The reality for me is that I will likely keep working at the same job until I have enough money saved up to retire early, because I can't imagine leaving the security and the great pay any earlier.

So I guess I have to go home.  But I am going to remember this trip and how being surrounded by the sound of people speaking another language feeds some part of my soul that is hungry.  I'm going to keep taking French lessons, and I'm going to read every single page of my travel guide as I plan my next adventure.  And I'm going to dream of the day when I reach my FIRE number and can choose to never return from my vacation.

*I don't actually have an emergency fund, but I do have money set aside for a down payment on a home that I may never buy.  This could be its own post.

**Sort of.  I would never insure an electronic gadget or a trip, because I hate throwing money away.  This could also be its own post.

My Problem with the Success Narrative

The FIRE community is filled with personal stories that follow a "success narrative".  Although each one is unique, they all follow a similar pattern:

1)  I started off with no money.
2)  As a result of my own hard work/sacrifice/discipline, I have amassed great wealth and achieved financial success.
3)  Because I was able to do this, anybody can also do it.

I completely understand the appeal and value of this narrative.  For someone who has been financially successful, it's really nice to feel proud of your accomplishments and like you fully deserve all of the success you've enjoyed.  For someone who is still on the path to financial success, these stories can be inspiring, helping you overcome the self doubt and frustration that can be barriers to achieving your goals.  

So why do I take issue with these stories?

Because they almost universally ignore the role of privilege.  Very few people who share their stories acknowledge that they have had advantages in life that have helped them be successful.  While the specific privileges vary from person to person, they may include being male, being white, being heterosexual, being cis-gender, being a fluent English speaker, being free of mental/physical disability, growing up in a stable home free of any form of abuse, living in a safe community, having access to a quality education, etc.  There are many possible privileges, all of which contribute to the likelihood that someone will be successful in his or her life.

As you're reading this, you may be thinking about the story of someone who overcame a lack of privilege to be successful, and of course there are these stories.  Human beings are strong and resilient, and some of us are able to overcome tremendous odds to achieve great things.  But these are only individual stories, which ignore the fact that the greater the odds are against a person, the less likely they are to succeed.  A white, able-bodied, cis-gender, healthy male is going to have an easier time in life, on average, than a black transgender woman or a white man with serious mental health issues living in the inner city.

So why do I think this is important?

First, because although the success narrative can be very empowering to people who are successful, it can also be very mentally damaging to people who face barriers to success.  Imagine you were a single mother of four kids living in a bad school district and working two minimum wage jobs to support your family, and the message that you heard was that your lack of financial success was because you "aren't trying hard enough" or you "just need to be more disciplined".  Being told that you're a personal failure isn't helpful when what you're really dealing with is a lack of social support, a dysfunctional educational system, and inadequate wages.

Second, because the success narrative lets people of privilege (such as myself) off the hook.  If success is only the result of personal attributes, then we don't have to care about (or do anything about) racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, income inequality, or any of the other systemic processes that serve to keep people of privilege in power and keep other people oppressed.  We can sit with our wealth, believing that we're fully entitled to it, and not care at all about the people who are suffering within our very unequal system.

We need to do better.  While it's great to celebrate individual successes and be proud of our own accomplishments, we need to also acknowledge the things that have helped us to get to where we are.  And thankfully, there are some bloggers who are doing this.  Please read the Frugalwoods and She Picks up Pennies and Our Next Life and Cait Flanders for some really good explorations of privilege.  And when you're writing your own success narrative, which I look forward to reading, please recognize the role that privilege played in it.

Why Are You Thinking About Retiring So Early?

As I was reviewing the consult service list with my resident earlier this week, I started to feel strangely unwell.  Cold, clammy, nauseated, and dizzy to the point of almost passing out*.  The feeling passed quickly, so I did what any "good" physician would do and soldiered on through my day.  Unfortunately, the feeling came back twice while I was talking to a patient and his family, and I felt so sick that I thought I might black out in the middle of the hospital, so I finally conceded that I couldn't stay at work any longer.  Thankfully the service was slow, and I was otherwise just catching up on paperwork, so it was possible for me to make a quick exit and drive my sick self home.

My sick self was pretty darn sick, so I spent the rest of the day lying on the couch with two cats applied to my abdomen.  After exhausting my blogroll and all of the interesting television that I'm allowed to watch (I mostly watch shows on Netflix with M, who would not tolerate me getting ahead of her), I started reading through some of the old comments on my blog.  One of them in particular, from Zed at Mind the Medic, stuck out:

"I hope you don't mind me asking but why are you thinking about retiring so early?"

I was apparently too lazy to respond to the question at the time, but I feel like it deserves to be revisited, as it's something I think about often.  And the answer is pretty simple:

"Because I'm often happier when I'm not working than when I'm working."

This isn't something that physicians talk about all that often, because our careers are supposed to be our callings.  We're supposed to be happy to make all the sacrifices of time, energy, and stress that we do because they are more than made up for by The Great Privilege of Saving Lives.  And yes.  Some days my job is a great privilege, and some days I even get to save lives.  But a lot of days my job is exhausting and tedious and almost unbearably stressful.  And on those days, I sometimes dream of being retired, even though I'm only 40 and two years into my career.

Over the past 14 months, since I achieved the much coveted net worth of zero, I've managed to save up enough money to live off of for about 3 1/2 years.  At my current rate, I expect that I could retire in as little as seven years, although that would definitely be more a state of Financial Independence than Financial Freedom.  It gives me great comfort and a feeling of security to know that, if I want to or need to, I could walk away from working at that time.

Although, the reality is that I may choose not to walk away.  The more financially secure I become, the more freedom I have to do things that make me happy at work, like take time off.  Financial security also makes me feel much less stressed about work and and how much I'm earning, which in turn makes it easier to like my job.  My dream is to hit the point of being Financially Independent but to enjoy work enough that I have no desire to retire yet.

But if that isn't the case?  Then it will be really nice to have the option of retiring early.

*The eventual diagnosis:  possible early anaphylaxis to a medication that I've been taking for 18 years, complete with really spectacular urticaria.  I may need an Epi pen.

*Edited to add:  Thanks to Physician on Fire for including me in his Sunday Best list. If you've just discovered this blog through PoF, then welcome!  Please leave me a comment to let me know who you are.*

Happiness on the Path to FIRE

Back in February, I was at one of the lowest points emotionally that I've been at in a long time.  I was burnt out from work, but in a very different way from the burnout I had experienced in residency.  In residency, difficult times were made easier by the knowledge that I was only days to weeks away from a new rotation; as an attending, I could take no such comfort from the knowledge that I would be doing the same work for years to decades.

So I took a vacation.  In late January, M and I decided last minute to book a trip to Cuba, and it was a bit of a lifesaver.  For the first time in months, I had a prolonged break from the incessant stress of work.  I stopped waking in the middle of the night to ruminate about patient care decisions.  I stopped calculating how many more days I would have to work until I would be financially independent.  I started laughing again.  For the ten days that I was away from work, I felt like myself again.

And when I went back, everything felt easier.  Not always easy, and certainly not free from stress, but at the very least far more manageable than it had before the vacation.  The whole experience made it clear to me that, while some physicians can go for years without a vacation, I am not one of those physicians.  To be happy, and to be of much use to my patients, I need to take breaks.

So I've decided to aim for at least one week off every three months.  By three months my neck is starting to stiffen and my sleep is getting more interrupted, and time away from the office feels really, really good.  I could work longer without a vacation, but I don't want to.

As someone who is interested in financial independence/retire early, or FIRE, it's tempting at times to want to reach financial independence as early as possible.  I sometimes think about taking extra call weekends and not taking time off and never eating out again so that I can squirrel away every possible penny for retirement.  But the reality is that I'm at least seven years away from achieving financial independence, and probably ten years away from feeling comfortable enough to retire, which is a long time to be unhappy.  I don't want to white knuckle my way to retirement; I want to be happy in the process.  Heck, I would love it if I were so happy in the process that when I reach the point of being able to retire I won't want to.

So I will take vacations.  And sleep through the night.  And laugh.  And be happy in my pursuit of FIRE.

(At the moment, I'm happily taking a week off of work to participate in our local theatre festival.  And I am loving my life.)