Decay
Some deaths are abrupt surprises, some deaths you see from miles away. I've been thinking about resigning for a while now, a notion I initially tried to dismiss given how awful the current job landscape is. I told myself the signs I saw were merely projection of my dissatisfaction. By now, there's no denying that we're on a sinking ship.
A deteriorating venture is a sight to behold, an odd party to be in. People sending customary goodbyes in Slack channels, at first getting none of your attention. It's a revolving door in tech companies, people just come and go every day. Then you notice they aren't getting replaced. Your team shrinking slowly, the participant list in your meetings now filled with orphan accounts. They aren't getting deactivated and transferred as fast as it should be. Platforms start to slog, their maintainers gone.
Suddenly you're facing a major release and 80% of the people responsible are new, cobbled together from different functions in the company. You let out a choice curse under your breath. It would be a long month. And what would be of the next?
But you aren't jumping off ship. Not yet. Because the sea has dried and you haven't seen anything remotely seaworthy passing by. Jumping now will only land you on shadier, shabbier rafts. So you wait as everything evaporates into bubbles, the end of somebody's dream. Maybe not yours, if you could help it. It's 2026. Everyone's stranded in the ocean. You'll make it somehow.
Everyone looks at each other, laughing awkwardly.
Sometimes I wonder if this is the sign I seek to drop everything. I could refashion myself as a tax consultant, perhaps. Till the end of time, ever-changing tax codes will forever elude the common man, vexing them to fork their hard-earned cash to those initiated in the sorcery and willing to keep up with the latest ritual dances. Afterall, even the average Joes' reports are getting complicated now with everyone having multiple income streams just to survive.