I’d never given much thought to my career. As far as I was concerned, I didn’t even have a career. I had a job; something to pay the bills. I got into drafting because I wanted to work in an air-conditioned office and avoid manual labor. I’d never even heard of drafting when I left high school. A friend of mine had a job as a trainee drafter and he made four hundred bucks a week. For a nineteen year old, that’s big time. Most of my other friends at the time were either studying or unemployed – a.k.a. flat broke.

Conversations at parties generally play out as follows: Stranger: So, what do you do?

Me: I’m a drafter. Blank stare from Stranger.

Me: I draw stuff. More blank staring, accompanied by spontaneous drooling.

Drafting is a multi-faceted profession. For example, I trained as a structural drafter, started my working life as a mechanical drafter, eventually got a job as a structural drafter, worked as an architectural drafter on the side, transferred internally across to civil drafting, moved to London and was employed as a telecommunica- tions drafter, then eventually came back and found work as a civil drafter again.

In the span of seven years, I gained experience in drawing houses and commercial buildings, designing and drawing the structural components (concrete and steel), designing and drawing the municipal services to the houses (sewer, water, roads, power and so on), as well as learning government protocol and the financial side of urban development along the way.

I worked relatively hard and earned decent money, but my job was still fairly low down on my list of priorities. I was far more interested in having a good time with friends and family.

That is, until my wife got pregnant. Then it was like the flick of a switch. I changed almost overnight. I cut down my drinking. I watched what I ate. I dramatically reduced my caffeine intake (within reason). I made a con- scious decision to be a better person to my fellow man – something I’d never considered before.

My new attitude spilled over into my job as well, which I started referring to as “my career” the day we found out we were expecting. I applied for a job at a multi-national mining firm; one of the biggest in the city. My interview went very well, and I was given two options: $85,000 per year for permanent full-time employment, or $75 per hour (roughly $160,000 per year) for a con- tract position. It was a tough call. Either way I chose to go, it was far more money than I'd earned to date.

The permanent role offered stability, something that was important to me with our first baby on the way. But the big dollars of the contract option was too much money to ignore. I weighed up the pros and cons of each, and ultimately came to the decision to go for the contract role. I wanted my wife to be able to stay home and look after our baby, without having to stress about rushing back to work and putting our son or daughter into daycare. This option was the difference between sending our child to private school over pub- lic school; buying the big house with plenty of room in the backyard as opposed to a cramped apartment in a rough suburb; vacationing in the Greek Isles instead of a dingy caravan down south. It was too good to re- fuse.

I accepted the offer and told my current boss that I was leaving. He asked what their offer was and when I told him, he shook his head and told me that I wouldn’t last six months.

“Not for the money they’re throwing at you,” he exclaimed.

I shrugged off the comment as nothing more than sour grapes, ready to move onward and upward. My col- leagues soon caught wind of the amount of money I’d be earning in my new role and started treating me dif- ferently. My closest friend in the office labeled me a sell out. I felt that I had never been materialistic and was simply looking out for my family.

Regardless, the backlash made me anxious and I started second-guessing my decision. Maybe my friends were right and only looking out for my best interests. Perhaps they were jealous and wished that they could land such lucrative jobs themselves. My wife was of the opinion that it was most likely a combination of both.

I tried to put it out of my mind and instead focused on the birth of our child. Charlotte May was born a couple of weeks before I was to start at my new job. She was happy and healthy, and that was all we could ask for. She lit up our lives and we felt truly blessed.

The night before I started my new job, I got forty five minutes sleep. Charlotte was a hungry baby, demand- ing to be fed every two hours. Being a light sleeper, I got up whenever my wife and Charlotte did. A feather hitting my pillow is generally enough for me to wake from a slumber, so you could imagine what a screaming baby will do!

I showed up for my first day in a zombie-like state. My hair was a mess and I had bags to accompany the bags under my eyes. I shudder to think what my new employers must’ve thought of me.

I soon discovered that when a company offers you a hundred and sixty thousand dollars, they expect you to sweat blood for it. Before long I was doing sixteen hour days with alarming regularity. At all of my old jobs, you could’ve set your watch by me. I was in at 8am and out the door by 5pm every day, without fail. At my new job, I rarely saw natural sunlight. I came to work and left for work in total darkness.

This had a particularly damaging effect on my personal life. I was too tired to help my wife with the baby when I dragged myself home each night, as much as I wanted to assist. We fought all the time; conflicts usually revolving around the fact that I was in a foul mood all the time. Regrettably, I castigated her, telling her that I was bringing in the big dollars and therefore justified in being grumpy from time to time. I rarely spent time with Charlotte; at one point I went an entire week without so much as seeing her. I withdrew from friends and family, begging off social events by saying that I was too tired to attend.

My life had become solely about work. I never intended for this to happen.

The Global Financial Crisis hit roughly three months into my contract. Management held a meeting, assuring us that the company was in a strong enough position to withstand the turbulent state of the economy and that our jobs were safe. As a contractor, I was more vulnerable to be laid off because I was not a permanent member of staff. When I raised this concern with my boss, he told me that I had nothing to worry about.

I ignored that advice. I feared for my job and every morning when I went into work, I was certain that that would be the day I was let go. This fear consumed me. It affected my performance at work, which in turn increased my panic. Watching the news and reading newspapers was a form of torture for me. Every article and news item seemed to tell different versions of the same story: fifteen hundred car company employees made redundant today, job cuts imminent, unemployment set to rise to record highs. I became a walking ball of stress.

Driving home from work one night, I had to pull over to the side of the road as I was having trouble breathing. It felt like my throat was closing up, I was having difficulty swallowing and my mouth was extremely dry. I literally thought I was dying. I called for an ambulance and was rushed to hospital. They ran all the usual tests and informed me that my blood was adequately oxygenated and my airway was clear. I was diagnosed with acute anxiety disorder.

I went to work the next day like nothing happened. Projects were piling up and deadlines were drawing closer and adding more pressure to my already hectic day. I went out to lunch as normal that day, and when I returned, my boss called me into his office and told me to close the door. I instantly knew what was com- ing; despite reassurances to the contrary, I knew my days were numbered. I had never been fired before. I was let go on January 6th, 2009. In the exit interview, my boss told me that upper management intended to pull the trigger on Christmas Eve, but he persuaded them to hold off until the new year.

When I started at the company, I weighed a hundred and eighty pounds and had a full, thick head of hair. In just six months, I’d lost thirty five pounds and found more hair in my comb than on my head.

My intentions were good. All I wanted to do was provide a comfortable way of life for my family. What I failed to see at the time was the best way I can be there for my loved ones is to exactly that: I needed to be there.