Upbeat? Or Beaten Up?

So many changes have taken place in my life since my last blog post that I'm almost to the point where I don't recognize it anymore.

First, I took early retirement. It wasn't entirely my decision, but I'm at peace with it. My work for Travillian Group—the executive search firm that recruits C-suite executives for banks—fizzled out in late spring.

Months before I left, the colleague who had championed the idea of using content creation to strengthen the Travillian brand was let go after repeated disagreements with company leadership. I remained, but it was never entirely clear what my role was supposed to be.

Story ideas seemed to come from every direction with little overarching purpose. Feedback often contradicted itself. One manager wanted more interviews with banking executives; another thought a draft had too many voices and lacked focus. I tried my best to walk that tightrope, but I could see the writing on the wall. I kept treading water for as long as I could, knowing that eventually my turn would come.

It did.

On May 29, I was permanently removed from the payroll.

As always, Eileen was wonderfully understanding. More than anyone, she has witnessed my gradual cognitive decline and recognized that full-time office work was becoming more difficult for me than I wanted to admit.

So we did what we've done during other periods of unemployment. We tightened our belts and leaned more heavily on my work as a church musician. Thankfully, those skills remain largely intact, although I find myself checking and rechecking details that once came effortlessly—hymn numbers, the order of Mass, and exactly what music belongs where.

Still, Eileen worried about me sitting home alone all day. She encouraged me to look for a part-time job, both to bring in a little extra income and to keep my mind engaged.

That search led me to Dogtopia in Chester Springs.

Given my decades of dog ownership and my background teaching obedience, I thought it might be a natural fit. The owner invited me in for an interview, and we spent quite a while talking about dogs—their personalities, their quirks, and the immense joy they bring to people's lives. She was especially interested in my training background and even wondered aloud whether obedience classes might someday become another service the business could offer.

It all sounded promising.

Then the training began.

Dogtopia has a very structured way of doing things. Every procedure has a prescribed method, and deviations aren't encouraged. The training consisted primarily of a long series of instructional videos, each ending with quizzes that had to be passed before moving on.

I was in over my head almost immediately.

Because of my cognitive challenges, I quickly realized I wasn't retaining enough information to pass the quizzes reliably. My solution was to take copious notes so I could double-check myself before answering. It worked ... most of the time.

Some of the material also seemed aimed at positions I wasn't expecting to fill. I struggled to understand why I needed to master every aspect of front-desk check-in procedures when I believed my job would simply be working with the dogs.

After completing the training, I reported for my first shift.

Dogtopia houses its dogs in three separate playrooms: the Toy Box for small dogs and puppies, the Romper Room for medium-sized dogs, and the Gym for the big boys and girls. I was assigned to the Gym.

Almost immediately, I realized I had another problem.

Learning the dogs' names simply wasn't happening.

There were dozens of dogs, many of the same breeds, all running, barking, wrestling, and changing places every few seconds. Some required special handling before doors could be opened. Others had individual rules that experienced coaches seemed to know instinctively.

To me, it all became one enormous blur.

Part of that was certainly my own limitation. But part of it was procedural. During training, every video showed a large whiteboard listing each dog's name, breed, and special instructions. When I arrived in the Gym, I couldn't find one anywhere. It wasn't until much later that I realized the board wasn't hanging on the wall at all — it was lying flat on top of one of the crates, where I had completely overlooked it.

The second challenge was the physical nature of the job.

Each playroom has one or more coaches assigned to it, and those coaches are expected to remain on their feet continuously. Other than a required lunch break, there was no sitting down. They were constantly moving, watching for signs of trouble, redirecting overly excited dogs, breaking up scuffles before they escalated, and keeping the room as calm as possible.

Then there was the cleanup.

Cleaning up after dogs never bothered me when they were my own. It's simply part of responsible dog ownership. But looking after dozens of other people's dogs was an entirely different experience. Urine needed to be mopped immediately. Feces had to be picked up and the floor sanitized. With more than 20 excited dogs sharing the room, stress sometimes led to bouts of diarrhea, which took the job to a whole new level of unpleasant.

I never shied away from any of it. Not once.

But it wore me down.

Another surprise involved my schedule.

The owner had told me I could choose hours that worked for me, so I signed up for an 8 a.m. to 1 p.m. shift. Later, the assistant manager informed me that there was "no such thing" as that schedule. If I was coming in that morning, I needed to begin at 7 a.m.

So I did.

That meant leaving the house around 6:15 every morning.

Dogtopia also required me to clock out for lunch, despite my telling them I'd rather work straight through and eat when I got home. The employee break room wasn't particularly inviting, so I usually spent my lunch break sitting alone in my car.

And thus it went. Every morning, I tried to generate as much enthusiasm as possible to serve the dogs entrusted to me. And every afternoon, I'd come home completely spent.

I'd shuffle into the shower, stand beneath the hot water, and let the exhaustion wash over me. More than once, I found myself sitting on the shower floor, simply to give my aching legs a few minutes' relief before drying off.

As the weeks passed, I shared my frustrations with Eileen whenever she asked how work was going. I didn't enjoy the job, but I also hated the idea of giving up even a modest paycheck. I wanted to keep contributing to our household in whatever way I could.

Then came what turned out to be my final shift.

The senior coach assigned to the Gym that day was impatient, demanding, and seemingly unsympathetic to a sixty-something newcomer who was genuinely trying to do his best. She corrected nearly everything I did and, despite my introducing myself as "Dan," insisted on calling me "Daniel" throughout the day.

By the time I drove home, I knew I was finished.

I sat down in the shower once again, then texted Eileen to tell her I was resigning. She was wholly behind me. No surprise there.

My first draft of the resignation email was fueled almost entirely by frustration. Fortunately, I let it sit for a while before sending anything. When I finally hit "Send," it was considerably more professional and gracious than what I'd originally written.

I never received a reply.

That told me everything I needed to know.

Still, I don't regret taking the job.

For one thing, I learned something important about myself. I wanted to prove — to Eileen, to others, and perhaps most of all to myself — that I could still step into something entirely new and make a meaningful contribution.

I couldn't.

At least not there.

And while admitting that isn't easy, neither is pretending otherwise.

The experience also wasn't without its bright spots.

I loved the Labs, who reminded me so much of Parker and Wesley. I always had a soft spot for the senior dogs, who appreciated a slower pace and a little extra attention. And I never stopped smiling at the handful of dogs who somehow managed to tune out all the barking and chaos, curl up in an empty corner, and sleep peacefully through the morning.

Would I do it again?

No.

But I'm glad I tried.

The title of this post asks whether I'm upbeat or beaten up.

The truth is, I'm a little of both.

I've lost a career that meant a great deal to me. I've had to face the reality that my cognitive decline is affecting parts of my life I once took for granted. And I've discovered that sheer determination can't always overcome changing circumstances.

But I've also learned that there is no shame in recognizing when something simply isn't the right fit.

Life looks very different today than it did a year ago. Some mornings I scarcely recognize it.

Yet I still wake up grateful — for my faith, for Eileen's unwavering love, for music, for the dogs who continue to make me smile, and for the hope that, even if one chapter has closed, God is not yet finished writing the next one.