Why I Don’t Want to Climb the Corporate Ladder

Edit: I read this back and it sounds like something I would say in a therapy session. I debated whether I should take this down. But I hope a few of you relate to it. Let’s be gentle with each other and bring understanding and empathy to our lives.

I've been coasting through my work lately.

For quite a while, if I'm being honest.

I've been completing my tasks at a surface level, collecting my salary.

Not doing badly, but not excelling either.

It's pretty embarrassing to admit, and I think many of you would be upset to hear that. But I simply haven't had the motivation to try and do well.

What worries me more is that I don't feel the need to progress. I don't really want to reach a new level or get a promotion. I don't want to do extra work or shoulder additional accountability or have more people reporting to me. It all sounds like a hassle.

I earn "enough" money. Do I really want more?

I could use more, of course. I could pay my bills faster, improve my home, or travel more frequently. I could even start a business.

But I just don't want to.

Is that so bad?

The Game of Comparison

I ask myself that all the time, particularly when I scroll through social media and see people younger than me earning massive money, traveling to exotic places, and driving luxury cars.

Then there's LinkedIn. My goodness. Where everyone's "humbled to announce" something amazing while I'm just trying to make it through my email backlog.

I catch myself scrolling through updates from college friends who are now VPs or launching startups. Each notification feels like a tiny judgment on my choices. Each promotion announcement from someone younger than me sends me into a spiral of self-doubt.

"Should I be there by now too?"

But I rarely see posts about the sacrifices behind those achievements. The missed bedtime stories. The strain on relationships. The anxiety medications. The therapy sessions.

Is There Something Wrong With Me?

Is there something wrong with me?

Am I lazy or am I smart?

Maybe both?

Who am I if not my job title? It's embarrassing how often I catch myself defining my worth by my professional accomplishments.

When meeting new people, "what do you do?" is usually the first question after learning someone's name. And my answer feels increasingly inadequate.

If I'm not climbing the ladder, am I even a player in the game?

The Great Pause. The Great Re-Think.

Everything changed in 2020. Working from my dining table, no commute, wearing sweatpants to meetings; it rearranged something fundamental in my brain.

The great pause made me question everything.

The hamster wheel stopped spinning long enough for me to ask: why was I running so hard in the first place?

Now, with things supposedly "back to normal," I find I don't want the old normal. I've tasted a different way of working, of living. The ambition I once had feels foreign now, like clothes that no longer fit.

"Find a job you love and you'll never work a day in your life."

What nonsence.

Even dream jobs have tedious meetings and frustrating clients and mind-numbing paperwork.

I used to think my work needed to be meaningful. That I needed to be changing lives or saving the planet. Now I wonder if it's okay that my job is just... a job. Something I do competently that pays the bills.

Maybe my purpose isn't found in my career at all, but in how I raise my kids. How I treat my neighbors. The small kindnesses I extend.

Outwork The Others

Meanwhile, hustle culture is everywhere. Rise and grind. No days off. Sleep when you're dead.

There's this pervasive message that contentment is complacency, that if you're not constantly striving, you're failing. That rest is a reward, not a necessity.

Sometimes I buy into it. I feel guilty for watching TV instead of starting a side hustle. For sleeping in rather than hitting a 5 AM workout.

More money would be nice. But how nice, exactly?

Could I really retire that much earlier? Would the vacation be that much more enjoyable? Would the slightly larger house make me proportionally happier?

And what's the cost? More meetings? More stress? More time away from the people I love?

I don't want to spend less time with my family. I don't want to work through the night. I don't want to age prematurely from stress.

In my twenties, I was hungry. Ambitious. Ready to prove myself.

Now I find myself softening around the edges. Less interested in climbing and more interested in balance. Less concerned with achievement and more concerned with contentment.

Is this growth? Maturity? The natural evolution of priorities?

Or is it surrender? Have I given up too easily? Settled for less than I'm capable of?

I honestly don't know.

What Do I Do Now?

Should I hustle though? Should I apply for a higher position, even if just for a few years? I could potentially save enough to retire in 10 years.

But at what cost?

Maybe this is the most honest work of midlife. The recalibrating expectations, both external and internal.

Figuring out what success actually means to me, not what I've been told it should mean.

Maybe it's okay that my answer today is different than it was a decade ago.

Maybe that's not lazy or smart.

Maybe it's just human.