Dr. Ruth's Daughter

I tried to sell a car this past Wednesday. I waited forty minutes in the dealer while they did an appraisal, only to come back and hand me the key and say “I think it’s worth more to you than it is to us.” It stung. I started to wonder what I was thinking trying to sell that car. I felt silly believing I had a chance. But it was so direct. Almost a relief in a weird way. I couldn’t figure out why. 

Two weeks ago I resigned from what had long been my dream job. Seven years of training and another seven of contracting had finally landed me a permanent role at VA doing what I love: public health technology for my favorite group of people. I made it a year before I got pushed out by DOGE. 

But today while I was washing the dishes, I tried to figure out why, even before this administration, I had started to feel deeply sad about work. I hadn’t been able to put my finger on it until the Toyota dealer. 

The message was clearer now. 

For years people had been, in subtle ways, “I think this is worth more to you than it is to us.” I had tried lots of things, but I couldn’t convince people that big parts of our work had value. I started to wonder why I was even trying. I felt silly for thinking I could make change. I got sad, at times depressed, at times hopeless. 

This Wednesday I left the Toyota dealer and drove eight minutes down the freeway to Lexus. They offered me water, bought my car for thousands of dollars, and drove me home in a luxury vehicle. 

Turns out it was worth something to them. And that’s all that mattered.