Nigel – The Decision (from my side)

In August, Noms wrote a blog about the decision to retire early. It feels like the right moment for me to explain it from my side, particularly as I suspect I may have been the one who first planted the seed.

Unlike Noms, I’ve never had a “year out”. My degree was completed part-time in the evenings, which meant I’ve effectively been working full-time since the age of 16—longer still if you count the work on my dad’s farm. With 42 years of full time work behind me, and never more than three weeks for a long holiday in all that time, I think I simply reached a point where I wanted to “see life” while I still could.

That feeling was sharpened by two very different but equally powerful events. The sudden loss of my best friend, Mike, was a stark reminder of how fragile and finite time really is. Around the same period, the birth of our wonderful granddaughter, Bea, brought the opposite emotion—hope, possibility, and the sense that there is always another chapter waiting to be written, a chapter I wanted to be part of. Together, those moments made me pause and question what I really wanted to do next.

Of course, these were just feelings, and we all have them. They don’t always lead to action. Something else must have triggered me.

That moment came last Christmas on a volunteering trip to the Costa Rica Rescue Center. One of our regular tasks was raking up the leaves that had fallen from the trees. This wasn’t simply about keeping the place tidy. Venomous snakes can hide in these piles of leaves, so removing them is essential for the safety of both volunteers and animals.

What struck me was how quickly the work undid itself. No sooner had I cleared an area than it needed doing again a couple of days later. It reminded me of the legend of the Greek king Sisyphus, condemned by the gods to roll a boulder up a hill only to watch it roll back down again, endlessly. A modern equivalent might be clearing your email inbox at work, only to find it full again the next morning: a never-ending cycle. The only real solution? Remove the inbox.

Yet the leaves were different. Raking them—hot, sweaty, repetitive—didn’t feel like a punishment. It was necessary. There was no clever system or efficiency trick that would stop the leaves from falling again, and that was fine. It was simply the natural order of things, and the only option was to accept that the work needed to be done, again and again.

I found that acceptance strangely rewarding and even therapeutic. The work felt meaningful. It struck me that it was no less valuable than handling multi-million-euro budgets or leading large teams. In that moment, I realised I had nothing left to prove. Climbing the career ladder had gradually taken me further away from the ground, and I discovered that what I really wanted was the opposite—to feel more grounded, not less.

And that, in the end, was the decision. I realised that respect isn’t about which BMW you drive or how many people report to you. It’s about how you behave and how you’re judged by your actions. Raking leaves or being the CEO of a large corporation both deserve respect, when done well they both add real value to society—although only one keeps you fit and sweaty.

This idea is captured perfectly by the genius of Tim Minchin in his song Cont. Some of you will know I have a serious man-crush on Tim. At the end of the song (apologies for the spoiler), he sings:
“I will judge you for no reason… but your deeds.”

Nicely put, Tim. Nicely put.