Unemployment Blues

At my routine dermatology screening a few weeks ago, she suggested a skin biopsy. There was a student shadowing her that day and they both seemed apprehensive, as if I’d have a strong negative reaction to the suggestion. They kept asking me if I was sure I was okay with doing it that day and saying I could set up a future appointment or just monitor things and re-check a few months later. Without hesitation, each time I just said “Go ahead. Let’s get it done and find out for sure.”

It didn’t bother me in the least at the time. As the days went by, I repeatedly horrified my friends and partner with straight-faced musing about how awesome it would be if I found out I only had a year or two to live.

• I could stop looking for a new job!
• I could know I had enough in my retirement savings to cover a year or two.
• I could detect it early enough to meet up with all my loved ones a few times and get all my affairs in order for an excellent finale.

For their comfort I’d deflect about it all being a joke, but I was serious. I hate working for wages. When I say I love some of my jobs, it’s all relative and because I hate the alternatives. Many of my greatest anxieties are financial. I don’t want to be homeless, unable to get healthcare, or be a burden on my family and friends. Knowing I only needed to pay 12–24 more months of bills and some funeral/end of life expenses would be such a relief. And knowing I had time to spend doing things that are most important to me sounds wonderful.

Sadly, my test came back negative and I’m still a healthy middle aged human. 😩

(I recognize how horrible cancer is and don’t want anyone to feel like I’m minimizing that here. I’m just sharing the way my inner mind works in horrible self-destructive ways sometimes.)

Revealing Emotions

The last couple months of unemployment have been rough. I’m spending hours filling out applications, doing interviews, and justifying my existence to get paltry benefits I’ve already paid for with my taxes. I’m sure there’s still paperwork to deal with in retirement, but it’s probably not quite like this. It’s soul-sucking and still feels like working a full-time 40 hour week.

But some days I take a break and it’s like a tiny peek at what retirement might feel like. Simple, local, cheap, pleasures like walking to the grocery store to get my breakfast avocados. Doing chores and home improvement projects I’d put off for months because I was too drained after work to handle them. Taking the dogs to hikes and dog parks. Catching up with friends and family. Reading the books I’ve been stacking on my to-read pile.

I’ve also been using my labor (for free) for my friends and community. I’ve taken on a board seat at my HOA, despite resisting that idea for a while. I’ve attended and spoken at city and county meetings. I’ve been watching my partner’s dog while she’s at work to save her the money it normally costs to pay for daycare. I’ve been consulting with my entrepreneur friends to help them make business tech decisions. These uses of my time and energy often feel more fulfilling than working for a paycheck.

Why do I have to wait decades for this?

Retirement feels like a magical far away thing to me and to many others under 60. Watching my severance whittle away each month when my mortgage payment comes out and eyeing my 401k account that I may need to liquidate at some point certainly pulls a thick fog between me and the prospect.

Given the choice to sell my labor for thirty more years so I can maybe have a few years of freedom at the end, versus having those few years right now and dying early, the former isn’t always the clear winner. Not that I want to accelerate things, but a biopsy is just a weird situation for the mind to wrap around.

When I think of my best case scenario, it’s to get a new job I actually want. One that’s interesting and lets me learn new things I care about. One that pays well enough for me to see the fog between me and retirement lift.

When I doubt myself and start entertaining the possibility that I take a job I’m overqualified and underpaid for, that’s what makes me long for alternatives. So despite it taking longer than I wish, I’m trying not to settle.

That’s what I’m taking away from this whole weird experience. I’m going to trust myself and my experience and not retreat out of insecurity. I know I can do the work I’m aiming for, and do it well. And I know the smart people out there who want those skills and experience and are willing to equip me with the tools to succeed will recognize it eventually.

And if I need to sell my home and rethink everything about how I survive, I will. But not until I have to.