Get a Life

It's hard to be satisfied with material success if you don't like the work you do. Or if you like your work but not the people you work with. Or if you like your work and your colleagues - but spend so much time with them that there's little time for anything else.

No wonder so many of us are asking the same tough questions: If I'm so "successful," why aren't I having more fun? If I'm so "together," why do I feel so out of control? And no wonder so many of us are reaching the same conclusion: I gotta get a life!

Annette Phillips, 34, finally got a life five years ago. Back in 1985, she left her hometown of Dallas for the challenges of New York City. She was determined to become financially independent, professionally accomplished - in short, a success. She pursued studies in accounting and became an auditor at Ernst & Young. She threw herself into client work, the first step on the road to partner. She didn't mind the travel, she didn't mind the clients - she just didn't love the work.

"I wanted to do more than bring in revenue," Phillips says. "I wanted to have an impact on the people in the firm. I wanted to make their lives better."

Making an impact meant taking a radical step. In 1993, Phillips stepped off the partnership track - and into human resources. Her colleagues said she was crazy: "That's not how you get ahead." Her father warned her: "It's no way to make partner." But those opinions didn't dissuade Phillips. "I made a fundamental decision," she explains. "I decided it wasn't that crucial to make partner. Status is less important than liking what you do."

Today, as director of global mobility for Ernst & Young International, Phillips is having the kind of impact she'd hoped for. She helps globally minded E&Y employees move among the firm's offices around the world. She works with senior partners in Europe, Asia, and elsewhere. She finds her work genuinely satisfying - even though she's not on track to make partner.

Franc Casey got a life too - but used a different strategy. Casey, 46, is proprietor of Wood Boats Inc., based in East Norwalk, Connecticut. He is an undisputed master of his craft: wooden-boat restoration. His customers include some of the wealthiest figures on Wall Street and Madison Avenue. His projects cost as much as $500,000. But Casey is the first to admit that his company, which he founded with his brother 25 years ago, is much smaller than it could be - not because he needs more customers but because he's so particular about those he takes on.

"I've done all the projects I've ever wanted to do," he says. "I've reframed, replanked, and redesigned. I've gutted boats, installed new interiors - you name it. All I'm really concerned about now is who I work with."

Casey has decided that he won't work with jerks. "We grew the company from 2 people to 15 people," he says, "and we could have grown it much bigger. But rather than grow the business, we shrank it back down to 2. My customers aren't just required to drop off a check. They have to show a commitment to the process. I work only with people who are willing to hold up their end."

When Bill Galston got a life, official Washington got a wake-up call. Back in 1993, Galston, now 52, was a professor at the University of Maryland. Then he got the offer of a lifetime - to become deputy assistant to the president for domestic policy. He knew what awaited him - that the high-impact, high-pressure assignment would mean long workdays as well as nights away from home.

But after a year on the job - and after relishing every moment of it - he began to understand the real toll the assignment was taking. Galston got a letter from his nine-year-old son, Ezra. The letter described some of Ezra's proudest moments in baseball - moments that were important to him, moments that Galston had missed because of work. "Baseball's not fun when there's no one there to applaud you," the letter concluded.

It took Galston six months to work up the nerve to walk into the Oval Office, meet with the president, and walk away from his job. His decision became big news inside the Beltway, and beyond. Political reporters looked for backroom intrigue. Career pundits looked for deeper meaning. Three years later, Galston has no regrets. Last spring, he spent many afternoons traveling around Washington, DC to watch his son play baseball - something he couldn't even have dreamed about in his White House days.

"I had spent years thinking about what I would do if I got a job like the one I had," he says. "It wasn't as if I were giving up something I didn't care about. But I was giving it up in favor of something I cared about even more. Fatherhood is the prism through which I see the world. Nothing else is even a close second."