Cataracts and Hurricanoes

Some non-personal circumstances have gotten me thinking about grief as a process and a state of being a bit lately. Dark as it can be, it's a luxury to be able to consider it without the fresh slash-wounds of family-close bereavement to bear, ideally not with the detached clinicality of a real sociopath trying to figure out why the man-animals do feelings, ha ha, no; more like with the expectant posture of someone bracing for an imminent blow to the head with something heavy, say a sandbag dropped from the stage rafters. "You have to consider all your options" is a timely and sage adage, even in 2026 when "all your options" range from "shit" to "also shit, but sanctioned by the government."

I don't want to worry anyone or paint my current situation as anything more dire than it actually is. Physically and medically I'm fine,* kids are fine, cat is thriving (apart from the occasional sneezing fit, I think she has allergies), my relationship is remarkable and surprising and strong... there's just a swirl of change in the air. Several pantheons have the concepts of creator-destroyer figures, so even the pagans knew, when it comes to one's relationship with the world in general, the default is often "it's complicated."

This blog is a little vague and it'll be a bit short because I'm definitely in more of a considering phase than a settled one, which makes expression a bit scattered as a lot of contradictory things are happening intellectually and emotionally at the same time. But I'm coming up to some hard sell-by dates for my work-related status quo, which will mean I also face the prospect of being a 50-plus aged person on the job market. That's less scary than it used to now that I think about it, since for Gen Z it seems like the only worse nightmare than looking for a job is actually finding one.

My expertise is pretty niche and my experience is actually somewhat limited given that I've changed jobs a few times, and this after not getting started until later (mid-30s) because of delays caused by grad school and being an at-home parent, two phases of my life I (more or less) loved. This is American capitalism after all, however, I blame myself for not seeing how personal fulfillment would only result in punishment and recrimination long-term.

The good news is I'm not going to be out of a job tomorrow. I've got some time to plant my feet and reorient myself a bit. I've also got an insane amount of support. But still, when looking to the sky for auspices, if you expect to be parsing a lazy flock of birds susurrating in one direction or the other to allow you to decipher divine intent but spot a descending cylcone instead, it's better to dive for the storm cellar than to stroke your chin in paralytic contemplative wonder. Anything more extreme than a tropical depression, you're better off moving past denial and rage and skipping right through to the acceptance.

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*I'm in my fifties now, so there are creaks in my joints and it takes me a few steps to get all the way upright when I stand up from a chair, but I do get there. Erect, as it were, without the aid of pills thus far.