What Comes Next
I quit.
My job, that is.
I didn’t want to quit. I wasn’t prepared for it. Not financially. Not emotionally. Not in any other way you might imagine.
For the past 7 years I enjoyed the privilege of working from home, well before the pandemic began. The occasional travel my job required came to a halt with the arrival of Covid. Thanks to widespread adoption of virtual meetings in early 2020, I was more connected than ever to the colleagues I previously had to get on a plane or drive long distances to see. Even after most of the world began the ‘back to normal’ shift in 2021, virtual gatherings remained our preferred way to do business. I was immensely thankful for that.
Working from home allowed me to pace myself well enough to maintain full-time employment with the Long Covid symptoms I’ve had since 2022. More importantly, it helped me avoid reinfections.
I’d been open with my coworkers about my Long Covid issues, hoping I'd be a cautionary tale that might motivate them to stay vigilant. I regularly passed along wastewater data to show them Covid was still around, even though cases were no longer tracked. I shared studies which demonstrated the undeniable evidence of enduring harm from even mild infections. Much of it was ignored, which didn’t surprise me.
My boss was the rare exception. She did skim over some of the info I had sent and would listen with empathy when I spoke about my personal experiences with Covid. Although she unmasked and went back to normal 3 years ago, she was very understanding of my limitations and my need to work from home. We had talked on multiple occasions about how, if it were required for me to travel and show up in person again in the foreseeable future, I would need to resign.
A couple of months ago, there was an announcement of a week-long meeting for all staff. Everyone had to attend in-person. No exceptions.
I submitted my resignation letter to my boss. I didn’t give a reason for my departure, just noted what my last day would be and thanked the company for the opportunity to work there. She called me, shocked by the news. She wanted to know why I didn’t talk to her about it first. I reminded her that we had discussed it multiple times before.
She didn’t remember.
She asked if I wanted to leave.
I told her no.
She asked why I was resigning. I explained it would be neither safe nor feasible for me to attend the in-person week-long meeting. She wanted to know why.
I told her I needed to avoid getting Covid again.
She told me I could just wear a mask.
I told her that would be problematic for numerous reasons. For one, my state just implemented a bill that allows me to mask in public for health reasons, but grants license to any person in any public place to approach me and demand that I remove it for 'identification purposes.' That makes me a target for harassment by anti-mask assholes. She insisted no one would give me a hard time over masking at the meeting.
I explained that I’d still have to contend with the hour-long commute to and from the meeting site. If I needed to stop at a gas station or anywhere else while coming or going, I’d be in a vulnerable position. She thought for sure I could work around that. She suggested I try to find someone from my area to commute in with so I wouldn’t be alone.
Not a bad idea, I told her, but it did not address the other challenges that masking presents for me. N95s offer excellent protection against airborne pathogens. Excellent is not perfect. Other factors can hinder protection, like the length of time the mask must be worn and the amount of virus there is circulating in the environment.
I’m all too familiar with the limitations of one-way masking. The first time Covid found its way into our home was from a doctor’s office full of sick people, where no one else was masked. I offered the anecdote of someone trying to break your door down; you can push a piece of heavy furniture against it and expect it to hold for a short while. But when the would-be intruder brings a bunch of their friends along and they all start throwing their weight at the door, eventually it will give way and you won’t be able to keep them out. I explained how those different factors would diminish the protection of my mask and increase my risk of getting sick again.
On top of all that, my lungs aren’t in the best of shape. I’ve had lung disease all my life and getting Covid 2 years ago didn’t do me any favors. All that damage adds up to diminished lung capacity, which makes it hard for me to breathe. It’s harder with exertion. It’s immensely harder if there is any obstruction of my airway. A mask is an obstruction. It’s necessary for me to wear one in public to protect myself from airborne diseases, but it sure as shit makes it harder for me to breathe. That’s why I do everything I can to limit how much time I spend in public.
Just last week, for instance, I spent 5 hours masked at the DMV. Most of it was spent waiting outside on the sidewalk, but I still masked. By the time I got home, I was so fatigued, lightheaded, and short of breath, all I could do was go to bed. My day was done by 3 pm. I am quite certain I could not handle being masked indoors for 5 full workdays in a row without having an asthma attack or passing out or experiencing some other outcome that might land me in the Emergency Room, dialing up my risk of exposure even more.
I need to be able to breathe without a struggle. It's kind of hard to be attentive and productive at work - or in any other situation - when I can't.
She suggested I go through HR and make a formal request for accommodations. I didn’t think it was a good idea. I knew what the sentiments were among leadership about Covid – “it’s over and it’s way past time to get back to normal.” It had already been stated that in-person attendance was required and there would be no virtual option. I also knew from others’ experiences how easily it could backfire to involve HR. If I told them I was physically unable to travel and show up for an in-person meeting, it could be construed as me being unable to perform essential duties of my job, which could be grounds for immediate dismissal. I wanted to leave with an ‘eligible for re-hire’ status, should a future employer call them for a reference. I knew my best option was to leave on my own terms. I had already submitted my resignation letter.
It wasn’t up for negotiation.
Hearing all of this, my boss shrugged. “Like it or not, this is the world now. We’re not going back.”
“And I’m not going forward,” I told her. “There are consequences to living with Covid, and this is one of them. Some of us get left behind.”
To my surprise, she got teary-eyed. I felt bad about it. Had I been in her shoes, I wouldn’t have wanted to lose me either. I was always a top performer, not only in my own duties, but with countless other responsibilities and projects I had taken on because I had the right skill set. I had done a lot of writing and creative work that went far outside of the scope of my role. I had performed standup comedy at work events. I had given a lot of my personal time and talents when it wasn’t required.
And I didn’t mind doing so. I liked my employer. I loved my coworkers. I enjoyed my job. As long as I was allowed to continue doing it safely from home, I was more than willing to keep it up as best I could.
But when push came to shove, I realized that the folks I’d gone above and beyond for were not willing to do the same for me. While my boss had offered some reasonable suggestions for what I could do if I’d chosen to stay, there was no mention of anything the company or my colleagues might do to support me. It was never even considered that others might be asked to mask or test or isolate if they had symptoms. There was no offer to bring in air purifiers or move some of the meetings or meals outdoors if the weather permitted. Not even the open-ended question, “well what could WE do to make you feel safer?”
It was a moment of clarity.
I had hoped that consistently going above and beyond the call of duty would make me indispensable and give me job security. Little did I realize it would never be enough. I had to show up in person and play back-to-normal with everyone else, or none of it would count.
It was the straw that broke the camel’s back for me. I quit.
I don’t take for granted how fortunate I am to have been in a position to walk away. I’ve always done freelance gigs in addition to having a full-time job, so I’ve got a network of people and organizations I can work for now as an independent contractor. I've been added as a dependent on my spouse’s health insurance. We will tighten up on spending but we can afford to pay our bills.
Still, it wasn’t ideal for me to put my career on hold and give up a steady paycheck and benefits without a solid plan for what comes next. I did not make the decision lightly.
At the same time, I felt like I didn’t have a choice. It came down to keeping my job at a significant risk to my health and my life, or holding onto the belief that my health and life are worth protecting no matter what.
It came down to whether or not I believe there is hope for a better future.
If I’m giving up my career and the security it affords me at this point in my life, it’s damn sure not going to be so I can stay at home in my pajamas and binge watch everything on Netflix before I die.
I do believe a better future is possible for us. I’m banking everything on it. I believe many of you are too, even if you don’t realize it. It’s the reason why you get out of bed in the morning when the weight of the world tries to pull you back down.
It’s why you’re raising your kids to be good people.
It’s why you adopted that kitten or puppy with a life expectancy of 12-15 years, and why you planted a tree that may or may not survive devastating climate change to bear fruit.
It’s why you hop on social media every day to connect with your community, face the latest bad news, and reach out to those who are struggling.
We’ve all been in that situation in which we abruptly pause the doomscrolling because we’ve seen a post by someone who is brave enough to share that they’re in crisis. They’re at the end of their rope and don’t know if they can go on.
We feel compelled to say something, even if we don’t know that person very well.
You’re not alone. I’m here if you’d like someone to talk to.
Please don’t give up. You matter. You are needed.
It won’t be this way forever.
We’re telling ourselves every bit as much as we’re telling that person in crisis. We’re saying it out loud on social media for all the world to bear witness. Against the deepest, darkest thoughts of despair that haunt us in our most vulnerable moments, we’re committing to hope.
Hope can be a tricky thing, though. It’s hard to stay hopeful when the very thing you’re hoping for is so far out of reach, you don’t know what it looks like or sounds like or feels like. We’re all stuck in this moment in time, trying our best to see what lies beyond the grimy window of the present. Five years of illness, loss, denial, gaslighting, abandonment, and other cruelties are clouding our view.
Still, we continue to look.
We just need a glimpse of what’s possible.
While none of us can say for certainty what it might be, we can dream about it. We can imagine it.
We can envision it.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve started work on a novel I’ve had simmering in the back of my head for a while. It’s a story about what the near future could hold for us. The characters, situations, and events are largely inspired by our Covid-Conscious/Cautious online community. In this story, there will be a be a place for us in the real world where we can live by our own rules and start making changes that matter.
And goddammit, we will be the heroes.
So while transitioning from my former job into whatever comes next for me, I’m writing this novel. My plan is to share it with you as a series, a chapter at a time. I’m aiming to have the first post up in early September.
I hope you’ll see yourself in the story, and that it will help you envision the possibilities of what the future might hold.
And I hope that little glimpse will bring just enough hope to help you keep moving forward while we’re all figuring out what comes next.
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