Ruminations on my career

Aweh, My Dearly Beloved Fellow Ruminants & Groupies

Yes, this blog is often self-indulgent, and today will be no exception. I recently turned 64, and quite astonishingly, my wife still loves me.

With less than a year to go until mandatory retirement, I’ve hit an important milestone: I no longer care about career advancement. I’ve got nothing left to prove, and frankly, I’m indifferent to what comes next. That’s what gives me license to scream into the abyss and generally piss into the wind. So here goes.

The Glory of My Own Reflected Brilliance

When I left that bastion of elite white monopoly capital, St Stithians College, in 1979, I fancied myself smarter than most, probably including you. I wasn’t top of the class, but I excelled in maths and science, which (let’s be honest) were the only subjects that mattered. As for poetry, Shakespeare, and French? Please.

So, I wandered into chemical engineering, mostly because it had a reputation for being difficult and because it aligned with my strengths. It was hard, but I eventually found my groove and graduated second in my class. The offers for postgrad study rolled in, along with a revived sense of just how brilliant I was. A master’s, a PhD, and then the drift into academia followed.

Turns Out I’m Materialistic Too

By 30, the low pay of academia started to wear thin. Turns out that in addition to being super smart, I’m also shallow, status-conscious, and materialistic. So, I jumped ship to Sasol—the heavyweight of South African petrochemicals—and stayed there for 30 years.

Did I stop to ask whether I was well-suited to corporate life? Of course not. Spoiler: they accommodated me until they didn’t.

The Corporate Car Ladder: A Status-Obsessed Petrolhead’s Paradise

Career progression in Sasol was neatly illustrated by your car allowance. At level 7, you drove whatever your gran left behind. Level 6? A Golf with no aircon. At level 5, you got a GTI, and at level 4, you moved up to a BMW 3 Series. Level 3 meant a BMW 5 Series. Level 2? A 7 Series, and if you cracked executive committee, you could drive whatever your heart desired.

It turns out that my career peaked at level 3. Senior middle management. I reached this milestone at age 38 in 1999, and I was rather impressed with myself. There was also a very generous award of share options.

The Three Acts of Corporate Life

Act I: The Climb

The first decade was golden. The company was expanding. We had exciting projects, collaborations with top-tier technology suppliers, and international travel galore. We created novel and pioneering processes and businesses. It was fast-paced, exhilarating, and borderline fun. I learned a lot.

Act II: The Sweet Spot

By the second decade, I was sufficiently senior to manage teams of engineers doing groundbreaking work. There was also the acquisition of a multinational chemical company, and I was fortunate enough to be part of the integration team. This involved lots of international travel and forging networks with European and American colleagues.

I was also involved in a pioneering plant in Qatar and spent a lot of time there. Work was challenging and interesting. The share price soared by a factor of 15, and the share options provided a windfall that I never could have imagined. Work was fascinating, and I had more money than I ever thought I would have.

It also turns out that my materialism is limited. A second-hand V8 Audi S4 I bought in 2005 and kept until 2019 was a sufficiently indulgent car for the petrol head. Being debt-free and investing became more meaningful than a new car. Not that we lived a frugal life.

Act III: The Slog and Decline

Then came the final decade. This was not so great, and I was miserable for the last 5 years. After the explosive growth in shareholder value in my second decade, things started stagnating and then started declining precipitously. This created an entirely different dynamic.

In 2014, the first restructuring rolled around. Of course, restructuring is just a euphemism for a consultant-led combination of headcount reduction, demotions, and severance packages if you did not accept demotion. The old level system was replaced with a new level system, and lengthy colourful PowerPoint slide packs explaining that if you were selected for demotion, you were not really being demoted.

A game of musical chairs. When the music stopped, I did not have a chair, and it was demotion or severance. I was 53 with two boys in private schools, and my spreadsheets strongly suggested that a few more years were required for a comfortable retirement. In the global ranking of suffering and hard luck stories in our brutally unequal world, my story is not particularly tragic.

My spreadsheets suggested that if I sucked it up until I reached 60, I would not need to work. You see if you are an engineer, your life is informed by spreadsheets, not holy texts. So, I completed my last few laps.

COVID, Exit Stage Left & The Wreckage That Followed

The last five years were grim. The company was in financial free fall. Projects dried up. Horizons shrank. Another restructuring came with Covid, but this time, I took the severance package in 2021 with a sense of relief.

At that point, I declared I’d never work again. I didn’t realise how badly those last five years had smashed my self-esteem and eroded all will to do anything other than write a blog.

Reinvention—Sort Of

Retirement quickly turned into boredom. My chess plateaued. Drifting became the new routine. So, I contacted Wits Business School to ask if they wanted someone like me to teach part-time. Surprisingly, it turns out they did. They asked me to give a talk on something energy-related (green hydrogen of course) and—voilà—got offered a job.

Despite lingering ambivalence, I accepted. I discovered I still enjoyed teaching. I didn’t expect the blizzard of admin. But it’s given me space to be myself, publish what I want, and, yes, ruffle some feathers. If you piss into the wind, you can’t complain when things get messy. I’m very grateful to Wits Business School for giving me a second chance.

The Next Cliff Edge

What happens after I retire next year? Fortunately, I’m a ruminator. I’ve got time to chew that

Thanks for all the comments and input.

Bruce