Freedom Rings: Why I Quit Corporate America in the Middle of a Global Pandemic
by Randy Kaufman, with research assistance from Dustin Lowman
My husband, David, and I pose with our literal Freedom Rings
“Can’t fly when the world says “Anchor down”
No joy till the camera flashed
No smiles till the camera asked
They love it when your demons hang around
They hang around
And I believe in a space to breathe, air is running out
I can hear the clouds begging me to spread my wings again
Yeah, like I forgot what being fly’s about
I’m just wiser now”
May, 2020. COVID-19 decimates our country; sirens screech night and day in New York City; thousands of Americans die daily; hospitals are overrun with the sick and dying; unemployment levels reach the highest rate in my lifetime. In the midst of all of it, I decide to resign from corporate America. My mom, who, in her ninth decade, still guides me twice daily, asks, “Who leaves a great job in the middle of a global pandemic?”
“Well mom,” I say, “I do.”
Rebel Rebel, How Could They Know?
1984 — the title of the most famous dystopian novel, which resembled fact, not fiction, in 2020 — was the year I graduated from law school. Much to my surprise, my parents announced that $10,000 waited for me in a custodial account. Their plan was for me to use it to buy furniture for my apartment. But I had other ideas.
Instead, I planned to take six months off after graduation and travel around the world with my law school roommate. Two young women traveling on their own, mostly in Asia, for half a year, in 1984. Cell phones and the internet had yet to be invented. We had telexes, long distance phone calls for hundreds of dollars a call, and special “airmail” light blue stationary, for writing actual letters.
We didn’t know what we didn’t know.
We were 22, had big ideas, and were fearless. We spent a month in Japan, took a three-week bike trip in China, embarked on a three-week trek to the Annapurna base camp, took an unguided trip through the Tiger Top jungles in Nepal where we were chased up a tree by a Rhino (not in the plan), visited palaces and rode elephants in Thailand, rode hard-seat trains in mainland China, and made a life-changing visit to Tibet where straw mattresses and latrines awaited.
To convince my parents to let me go on this rather insane trip, I tried, at first, to use grace, as my lovely mother had taught me. The student has become the master, I thought. But grace failed me. Shouts rang out; tears flowed. Time for plan B.
Grit. It would be grit to get me though. Law profs taught me that critical information lurks in fine print. Examining it, I learned that the money in the custodial account was legally mine. I figured out how to spend neither a penny more nor less than its contents over the ensuing six months and flew, with bated breath, to Japan the day after I took the bar exam. Of course, my parents wished me well before I left.
Years later, we’d all agree that the trip was life-changing — overwhelmingly for the better. Many of those memories are still as vivid as if they had happened last year. My tenacious character, and perspective on how much I have, as well as my keen focus on philanthropy, all stem from those six months gaining exposure to people, cultures, and conditions of life that I’d never have otherwise seen. The world, I learned then, and never forgot, is broader and deeper than the limits of my charmed life.
“A Good Career for a Woman”
Later that year, peers, professors, and other pundits told me I should go into Trust and Estate law upon graduation from law school, because it was “a good career for a woman.” Whoa, said I, rearing like a horse being restrained.
Instead, I looked for the toughest, scariest job I could get: corporate tax law at Paul Weiss in the Mike Milken era. Fumes and sushi nourished our weary bodies as we rarely slept more than five hours a night. Black cars lined the streets to whisk us back to our apartments as the sun rose. Vulgarities and IRS code sections littered our vocabulary — we yelled, we shouted. We were even known to throw a phone or two. But we worked hard for our clients, we learned a lot, and amid all the angst and fatigue, we managed to have a lot of fun.
As I had suspected, my being a woman never put me at a disadvantage. There were times when I had to learn to act with the same steadfast resolve as my male colleagues, but these were low hurdles on the way to success. By the time I had earned my stripes in those supposedly shark-infested, woman-repelling waters, it was enormously gratifying to look back on all those who had seen my gender as a source of weakness, and to know that I had proven them wrong.
The Dormant Me
Fast forward to this life in a time of Corona. Past decades found me in corporate law, investment banking, and then, to my favorite of all, wealth management. Anyone who looked at my CV would have concluded I was as straight an arrow as they come.
The rebel still dwelt in there somewhere, but she had softened. The woman who swore she’d never marry, had married once, divorced, and remarried. The woman who disparaged wedding rings as symbols of enslavement, cheerfully and proudly sports shiny new wedding and engagement rings from one of her favorite jewelry designers, Marla Aaron. My internal rebel was dormant. But with seeds sown by numerous younger colleagues over the years, combined with the sudden shock of COVID-19, she finally resurfaced.
From my millennials I have learned much. First and foremost: A person needs enough, not more. Second: Very little makes people happier than having a positive impact on the world. Third: You can have a thriving career and be your authentic self at the same time. The two are not, as conventional wisdom has long had workers believe, mutually exclusive.
I found myself in the magic and peace of the country in upstate New York in the spring of 2020, channeling Randy the younger. I decided to leave corporate America.
Finding Randy
With a tip of the hat to Paulo Coelho, I bravely said goodbye, soon to be rewarded with a new hello. I now run Aker Advisors, where I serve as an independent wealth consultant. I also work with my husband at Heron Wealth. I focus on things that bring me joy — philanthropy, impact investing, and working as the relationship manager with a small group of amazing clients.
I find immense joy in my blog — for whose updates you can sign up here — where I can say what I want, when I want, finally free of the glossy veneer of corporate America. Most exhilarating of all, I’m working on special projects for Acumen, a non-profit that combines my interest in international poverty alleviation with my belief that traditional systems of charity are often broken. My work with Acumen has reinforced my belief that impact investing will pave the way for a brighter future.
With my exit from the boundary-laden corporate world came a freedom that I cherish. While I still have busy days, I can speak my mind, go where I want to go, and know that I’m always accountable to myself. I live by the boundaries that I have decided are right for me — boundaries tailored to the dimensions of my life, not to the security of a parent organization.
With grit most of the time, grace often, growth when I can muster it, and gratitude always, I hope you’ve enjoyed this window into my search for freedom. Speaking of gratitude, I want to give President of Idea Transfer — and dear friend — Mr. Alan Boal, a special note of thanks for all he has done for me over the years...most especially, for creating the 4 Gs name of my blog!
To talk more about the perks of full autonomy, please don’t hesitate to reach out! And, click here to download a printable PDF of this article.
For the musical inspiration for this post, listen below: