Breaking the Golden Handcuffs

It’s been almost a year since I took a leap of faith — and very likely the last time I’ll work in big corporate.

On paper, it was the best role I’d ever had. Global company. Smart people. Solid package. Flexible work. The kind of job most people can only dream of. From the outside, friends and colleagues thought I was crazy even to consider leaving. From the inside, it felt very different.

The industry fascinated me. The day-to-day didn’t.

When I first joined, I was excited by the scale of oil & gas. The “rock to dock” journey of getting hydrocarbons out of the ground and onto ships was mind-blowing. But the reality of my work was repetitive tasks and endless meetings. Too often, I found myself in rooms full of clever people talking about doing the work rather than actually doing the work. Walking out of meetings with no clear outcome became normal. That nagging sense of wasted potential built up over time.

At first, I pushed back on those feelings. I told myself I should be grateful. Not many people in Australia get the chance to work in oil & gas. I told myself that if I stuck it out, maybe I’d land a better role inside the company. But deep down, I couldn’t see “future me” in the shoes of people who had been there for 10 or 15 years.

And that’s when it clicked. If I couldn’t see myself in their shoes, then what was I doing?

The perks made it even harder. That’s how golden handcuffs work. Each year, the package gets better, the benefits grow, and the comfort sets in. You start telling yourself, “I’ll just stay one more year.” But the longer you stay, the harder it is to leave. At some point, it’s no longer a career choice — it’s inertia.

I realised if I didn’t leave then, I might never leave.

So I made the call.

It wasn’t easy. I didn’t just leave a company; I left my home. I left family, friends, and the comfort zone I had built over years. It was stressful, uncomfortable, and uncertain. I’ve always been risk-averse — I like plans, predictability, control — and this decision stripped all of that away.

But here’s what surprised me.

The moment I decided, the fear lifted. The anxiety that had kept me up at night disappeared. In its place came relief, excitement, and yes — some sadness. It was the end of an era. But it was also the beginning of something new.

And that’s where the real learning began.

What I Learned About Myself

The months leading up to leaving taught me how much I relied on safety and certainty. I realised how uncomfortable I was sitting in uncertainty, and how much it threw me when I didn’t have control. But sitting in that discomfort, day after day, faded it away.

After leaving, I learned I was more resourceful than I gave myself credit for. I discovered that my skills and experiences were more transferable than I’d realised. Like many people, I had undervalued my own experience because I was too close to it. Stepping away gave me perspective.

I also learned that the decision wasn’t as final or catastrophic as I thought. Beforehand, it felt like life or death — as if leaving meant my career was over. In reality, the world kept turning. Options appeared. New doors opened.

And I rediscovered something important about myself: I love adventure. I don’t enjoy monotony, no matter how much I try to convince myself I should. Adventure excites me, energises me, and makes me feel alive.

On the other side of fear was opportunity. A whole world I couldn’t see when I was stuck in tunnel vision suddenly opened up.

Advice If You’re on the Fence

If you’re sitting in a “safe” role but questioning whether it’s right for you, here’s what I’d share:

1. Remember there’s life outside.
Big organisations are designed to make you feel like nothing else comes close. It’s not true. There are endless opportunities once you step outside the bubble.

2. Talk to people.
Speak to friends, family, colleagues, even people you find on LinkedIn. Ask them what they do, how they live, what they earn. You’ll be surprised at the variety of paths. Talking and reading about people who’d made similar moves gave me confidence that I wasn’t mad for wanting something different.

3. Create your own North Star.
Write down where you want to be in 5, 10, 15 years — personally, professionally, financially. Be as specific as you can. When you’re clear on where you want to go, you can reverse-engineer the steps to get there. That clarity changes everything. Opportunities that felt invisible before suddenly stand out.

Why I’m Glad I Left

Growing up in Zimbabwe, I learned early that work is a privilege, not an entitlement.

My family farmed.

Work wasn’t about titles or comfort. It was about producing value for the community, creating jobs, putting meals on tables. That mindset has never left me.

That’s why leaving mattered. I didn’t want my work to drift into entitlement or comfort. I wanted it to matter — to me, to others, to the communities I’m part of.

Looking back, I’m grateful I left when I did. I could’ve stayed. It would’ve been easier in the short term. But it wouldn’t have been right. I was without any real responsibilities like kids and a mortgage, it was now or never.

And when I picture future me — looking back in five, ten, twenty years — I know he’ll be glad I made the choice I did.