When will the itching stop?

My coworker in the office was opening up the cabinets in the kitchen area, “Do you know if they ordered lotion?” His tall frame slumped after he rose from looking through the bottom cabinet.

I rubbed my dry hands, “I don’t think so, but I could definitely use some, my eczema is already bad this year, earlier than usual.” I pointed to the red scale on my hand, he nodded resolutely, pointing to his elbow of similar affliction. Heading back to his desk, I resolved to bring some lotion in for myself, he resolved to ask about the order.

We talk about women choosing the bear, but in the past couple months I’ve had coworkers choose to quit their stable, well-paying tech jobs for something else that does not include another tech job. I’ve worked in and been around the tech industry for so long that in other time periods with plentiful jobs, you could take such a risk, and maybe it’s just my age and experience, and their youth and optimism, but part of me is thinking they know what’s up, these folks.

There is no longer a prize or appreciation for knowing anything. We’ve been saving for a future that might never come, and toiled for millionaires and billionaires who would see us dead and our world in flames and replaced by robot servants so with all this in mind, what am I doing here? A paycheck, yes, and insurance as well, and with those red tape and strings attached to my stiff limbs, a marionette for a sideshow.

Why didn’t Jon quit his job, go on SSDI and Medicaid as he was qualified to do with a Stage 4 Lung Cancer diagnosis. Maybe because his last job afforded us some of the best health care insurance and life insurance is the only reason needed;that his promise to take care of me would be fulfilled materially, in the very least.

What do I do now? Beg my local independent radio station for a job? Turn my garage into an ADU for passive income? Find another tech job that at least has out queer people? It is a privilege to have the choice to let go of what was once a sure thing to prosperity. I get that, but what I also see is some of the people I respect choosing to find what matters and acknowledging that the “sure thing” is increasingly unlikely. The cash-out from tearing yourself up for a startup will not materialize.

Jon and I were fortunate in our misfortune, but if you have the choice and you’re staring down a death sentence with the freedom to enjoy some of that brief time, find a way to take it. I think Jon was saving for a tomorrow not just for me, but for him, and admirable though that may be, some stress could have been relieved, and joy might have flourished. Don’t wait too long.

I am not OK. I have to be, for my kids, “Are you ok,” I’m asked too often, and it’s not a lie if I say I’m OK because for them I will always have to be OK. Perhaps it’s an absurd standard but the one thing I want for them is to never have to worry about me, or take care of me. Do the dishes, take out the garbage, clean house? Yes. Me? No. I spent too many years of my life trying to save other people, prop them up, soothe, cure and fix in the hope that when I needed them (and I needed them) they’d do the same. It started when I was a kid. I want to spare them from that, prove to them that messy and tired I can still be a parent.

But I’m not OK. It’s not the weather, my coworker and I agreed, that brought on the eczema earlier than usual this year — it’s the stress and burn out. Losing colleagues to the forest where the bears lurk, and whatever else is going on in our private lives. Beyond the patches is sometimes an overwhelming combustive crawling of my skin, I claw to dig it out, I rub all manner of potions on the scratches and bruises, I can cope with most of my day to day but sometimes sorrow catches up to me, bittersweet.

And I have to deal with not being OK, and this is where the tables turn. I make appointments, and start from a place of vulnerability and fear. And a bravery, I suppose. Two months left of the ‘Year of Whatever,’ and I go to NYC for a work trip next week, where the year started. Why is this still so hard?