"Stay in your pajamas. In fact, stay in bed. Don't move. Don't go anywhere. And get that dog up there with you. Feel that lovely dog weight, dog density, as your dog settles and downshifts, grows heavy with unconsciousness, and makes the profound noises, the groans of contentment and secret multi-voweled suspirations, of a dog entering its sleep world. Let the dog be your teacher; let the dog be your guide. Deep-breathing animal equanimity, that's the ticket."
"I think you might be suffering from some version of survivor's guilt. No doubt many of your colleagues had their jobs indiscriminately minced by the same whizzing DOGE machine that gifted you this painless early retirement. Meanwhile, the country you have served so well, for so long, is apparently separating into coagulated lumps of volcanic matter. And here you are in your nice house with your novels and your unscripted afternoons."
"I am one of the luckiest people to fall victim to DOGE. I am a military veteran and 20-year federal employee who was able to take advantage of a buyout and early retirement. I have a husband with a military pension who was not pushed out of his federal job. This allowed us to buy our dream retirement home, where I spend my days reading novels and hanging out with my dog. And yet: I feel lost and pointless. Ungrateful."
A retired federal worker enjoys a comfortable early retirement after a buyout and lives in a dream home with a husband and dog. The retiree experiences persistent feelings of pointlessness, ennui, and ungratefulness despite material security. Witnessing national and global crises intensifies survivor's guilt about colleagues who lost jobs. Rest and small pleasures can be therapeutic. Using the dog's calm as a model can promote presence, deep breathing, and equanimity. Allowing indulgent rest and accepting comfort without self-reproach can help reconcile appreciation for personal fortune with awareness of broader suffering.
Read at The Atlantic
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