Maybe it's time for me to leave

 

There’s a moment in life when you start thinking less about climbing and more about landing. About what’s left. About what it all meant. And right now, as I look at the working world I’ll soon be leaving, I hardly recognize it.

The divide between those who run the companies and those who work for them has never been wider. The richest man in the world grins as he waves a chainsaw and brags about how many jobs he’s cut ... that tells you everything. Work, to them, is nothing but numbers: the bottom line and stock prices.

But for me and people like me, it’s always been more than that. It’s pride. It’s security. It’s community. It’s knowing you built something, contributed something, even if no one puts your name on a building. For decades, I worked not just to make a living but also to have a purpose and to take pride in a job well done. To provide for my family, sure, but also to be a part of something. Work was never just about money. It was also about dignity.

I remember when companies understood that. When success meant sharing the wins. When benefits were expected, not begged for. When a layoff was a last resort, not a badge of honor. I remember when the people at the top still seemed to care—maybe not in some grand, altruistic way, but at least in a way that made you feel like more than a line item on an expense report.

Now? Now it’s different. Now it’s cold. Brutal. Layoffs are announced with a smirk and a toast. And the people left behind are told to be grateful it wasn’t them. Workers aren’t people anymore; they’re “redundancies.” They’re costs, not assets. Just numbers to be shuffled. Erased. Moved offshore. Pawns eliminated in actions renamed in corporate-speak to protect the brand: Rightsizing the organization. Optimizing operational efficiency. Strategic realignment.

This week alone, three friends lost their jobs. Happens all the time now. It’s happened to me before. And when it did, it wasn’t just about the money; it was about losing the structure, the purpose, the thing that kept my mind from spiraling in the quiet hours of the night.

That’s what these executives don’t understand. Work isn’t just a paycheck. It’s hope. It’s stability. It’s something to wake up for, something to fight for, something to believe in. Take that away, not just with the inevitability of change but with this smug, celebratory cruelty, and what do you think happens next?

This isn’t politics. This isn’t a debate. It’s reality. Income inequality is worse than ever. The job market is a disaster. Even the stock market -- supposedly the god they worship -- is reacting negatively. And still, the people in charge keep making the same choices, as if none of it will ever come back to bite them.

But it will. Because without workers who believe in the work, without people who still have hope, nothing works. Not for us. Not for them. Not for anyone. And I wonder, as I step toward the next chapter of my life, if those at the top will realize that before it’s too late.