There are two kinds of dog owners in this world. There are people who have dogs, and there are dog people. For the latter, dogs aren’t just pets; they’re family. If that sentence resonates with you, you’ll understand everything that follows. If it doesn’t, this may not be for you.

When I ended Part-1, I thought I was writing about managing a treatable disease and navigating the mechanics of a chronic illness. What I’ve come to understand is that this story isn’t really about diabetes. It’s about the illusion of control.

At the root of that illusion is a single word; treatable. The word implies predictability. It suggests that if you follow instructions, if you are disciplined, if you do everything correctly, stability will follow. But what follows in this story is anything but stable.

This all unfolds against a backdrop that makes things even tougher. I am still unemployed after 10-months, and I’m “broke.” The financial pressure is real. By the end of this story, it will be clear why I describe the experience as traumatic. I even sometimes question whether I’ve truly done right by Jetson.

Brief Recap of Part-1

Jetson was diagnosed with diabetes on October 21. Within days, the twice-daily insulin injections became a struggle neither of us was prepared for. He refused them outright. I brought in a mobile vet tech (VETTech1) to help, assuming competence would calm the situation but, instead, it escalated it. He learned to fear the needle. I learned to expect resistance. We both became reactive.

On October 30, we switched to a long-lasting insulin, Degludec, reducing injections to once per day. That change wasn’t incremental, it changed everything. Two shots a day was impossible. One shot gave me a fighting chance to care for him and get him stable. It made the situation manageable in a way it hadn’t been before. The psychological barrier didn’t disappear, but for the first time since his diagnosis, I felt hope.

Throughout November, my life narrowed to a routine built around his injections and feedings. I drove him daily to a clinic (VET1 or VET4) for the injection. Sundays required additional coordination, while holidays meant navigating emergency hospitals (VET2 or VET5). Stability became something that required constant logistical effort.

Then, on November 11, I lost Chance, Jetson’s companion of nine years, unexpectedly. It was one day before Chance’s seventeenth birthday. There was no long decline. No gradual preparation. Just emptiness. Even five months later, the grief hasn’t settled.

By November 28, when I ended Part-1, I was exhausted and quietly preparing for the possibility that I might lose Jetson too. Six veterinary clinics and one technician had already become part of the attempt to hold things together.

Emotional Breakdown

Thanksgiving 2025 was the moment the illusion cracked.

I had always thought of myself as emotionally steady. That day, I wasn’t. Jetson’s blood glucose was far from under control. I was unemployed. My world had grown smaller than I cared to admit. And Chance was gone. It felt as though I was standing in a room where every support beam had been quietly removed.

The grief over Chance wasn’t abstract. Dogs are part of our everyday rhythm. They inhabit the small rituals of life; mornings, routines, sleep, and the quiet in-between moments. I had raised him from a puppy. We understood each other without effort. His death wasn’t dramatic. It was abrupt. There was no emotional runway, just absence. I found myself experiencing a depth of grief I had never encountered before, but Jetson was still alive, so that’s where my focus went.

What Happened After November 28^th with Jetson

The objective was simple: get Jetson healthy.

I was trying to manage two conditions common in Miniature Schnauzers; calcium oxalate bladder stones and diabetes. Dietary decisions require compromise. I prepare his meals twice daily, not because it’s convenient, but because it gives me something concrete to control. It ensures he eats cleanly. It’s one variable I can stabilize.

For weeks, I drove him to VET4 for daily shots. It was efficient and affordable, but it reinforced a truth I didn’t want to admit: I was outsourcing the most critical part of his care because I wasn’t capable of handling it myself. Sundays required hiring another vet tech (VETTech2) to come to the house. Holidays meant navigating systems overwhelmed by emergencies. On Christmas Day, I was forced to drive to VET2, a 50-mile round trip for a single injection.

Somewhere during that drive, something changed. I pulled off I-95 into a hotel parking lot and decided I would give him the injection myself. I hadn’t done it in over two months. The mechanics weren’t complicated. The hesitation was psychological.

I administered the shot successfully!

In that moment, I realized something subtle but important; fear had become habit. And habits, even powerful ones, can be broken. I wasn’t claiming “mission accomplished,” but I had overcome my fear of giving the shot. I also learned something practical. When Jetson was in a confined space, the resistance diminished. Structure reduced resistance.

What Happened Next Was Catastrophic

By late January, Jetson’s bladder stones were under control and his blood glucose stabilized at 14 units per day. After months of adjustments and six glucose monitors, the volatility quieted. Relief came first, then pride. For one brief day, it felt as though persistence had finally produced stability. I allowed myself to believe we had crossed into safer territory.

The very next morning, Jetson began bumping into things. First a garbage can, then a curb. Something was wrong. I secured an emergency visit with an ophthalmologist (VET7). They took Jetson back for examination while I sat alone in the waiting room. After some time, she called me into the room. She looked at me and said calmly, “Jetson has developed aggressive cataracts from the diabetes. He will likely be blind within two weeks.”

If I say the floor dropped out from under me, it still doesn’t capture the moment. I went into physical shock. As she explained my options options and timelines, I watched her mouth move, but there was no sound. I didn’t hear a single sentence she spoke.

The Surgery

It took a full day to pull myself together. When I spoke with the ophthalmologist again, she explained my options. I told her I wanted to proceed with surgery to restore his sight as soon as possible.

The surgery would consume most of what I had left in savings. The financial reality registered, but it didn’t factor into the decision. I wanted Jetson to keep his eyesight. That was the only variable that mattered.

The two weeks before the procedure were unbearable. Watching his vision deteriorate day by day was one of the hardest experiences I’ve had with a dog. I suspect I was more affected than he was. Dogs adapt. Humans anticipate. Each time I left the house, I couldn’t shake the image of him sitting in darkness. In that context, cost ceased to matter.

On February 19, the surgery was performed successfully. His vision returned, but success didn’t mean resolution. It meant responsibility; months of careful monitoring, eye drops, and vigilance to protect what had been restored. For a brief stretch after the procedure, it felt as though order had returned, though fragile and conditional.

What Happens Next Is Not to Be Believed

Two weeks later, during an ordinary walk, Jetson ingested what I believe was a discarded marijuana edible. There had been several incidents in my neighborhood where dogs picked up similar items, so I already knew the symptoms to watch for. I just never expected it to happen to us.

He became severely ill. For a diabetic dog, appetite loss is not minor. It destabilizes everything. Insulin without food becomes dangerous. Suddenly, I was balancing post-surgical eye recovery, medication side effects, diabetes management, and acute toxicity, all at once. Recovery took two full weeks.

By this point, my nervous system was exhausted. I wasn’t just managing events; I was reacting to them. Every molehill felt like a mountain. Every irregularity felt like the beginning of another collapse.

Something Positive Finally Happened

Eventually, I realized I could not continue outsourcing the injections. If this was going to be sustainable, I needed to become competent at delivering the shots myself.

So I began asking neighbors to help hold Jetson while I administered the shot. Repetition made me competent. Competence removed the anxiety. What’s ironic and genuinely funny, is that Jetson seems to enjoy being held by my neighbors. He watches me administer the injection and offers no resistance.

On the occasions when no one is around, I return to the insight from that Christmas parking lot. The front seat of my car has become a controlled environment, a place where I can give the shot with minimal resistance. Structure reduces the chaos.

I haven’t returned to the clinic for injections in over a month. I haven’t conquered the issue entirely, but I’m no longer intimidated by it. Progress, in this case, isn’t dramatic. It’s incremental, and that’s good enough for now.

Where Things Stand

Today, Jetson is stable. His blood glucose is controlled. His vision is strong. Physically, he is well.

But Chance is gone. Jetson is alone in a way he wasn’t before. Stability cannot replace companionship. So this weekend, I am bringing home another dog as a companion. I believe it’s the right decision, not just for Jetson, but for me as well. I’m hopeful, though cautious.

This is where Part-2 ends.

I am fully competent in giving his injections. There is no anxiety on my part anymore. The mechanics are routine. But Jetson still remembers the beginning; the early chaos, the fear, the struggle with that first mobile vet technician. He won’t allow the shot in the open. Only in the arms of neighbors or in the confined front seat of the car does he settle enough to let it happen. I’ll need to find a way to gently desensitize him over time. It won’t be easy.

This experience has taught me that “treatable” is a clinical term. It suggests order. Life rarely cooperates with that suggestion. Vulnerability feels less like an exception now and more like a constant.

All I can do is move forward deliberately; one decision, one recalibration, and one injection at a time.

Legend for Veterinary Clinics & Technicians

• VET1: Primary veterinary clinic for both Chance and Jetson, approximately 20 minutes from my home.

• VET2: Internal medicine specialty clinic. Open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. The round trip from my home is approximately 50 miles.

• VET3: 24/7 emergency veterinary clinic near my home. I visited once; they were unable to assist.

• VET4: Veterinary clinic five minutes from my home, used solely for Jetson’s daily injections.

• VET5: Another 24/7 emergency veterinary clinic near my home.

• VET6: Specialty veterinary clinic assisting with Jetson’s dietary management.

• VET7: Ophthalmology specialty clinic.

• VETTech1: Mobile veterinary technician.

• VETTech2: Mobile veterinary technician.

I’m ashamed and embarrassed to write this, but I’m also angry enough that I can’t not write it. Like many others, I didn’t end up here overnight. My second startup unraveled during Covid, and I’ve been trying to recover ever since.

I’ve been unemployed for 10 months and am still looking for work. I’ve run through my savings. At this point, I’m broke. That’s not where I expected to be after earning two graduate degrees, including one from MIT, and achieving real success in my career, including a successful exit from my first startup. For more than three decades, I’ve approached my finances with discipline; paying bills on time, avoiding debt, and building what I thought was a stable foundation. I followed the rules. Or at least, I thought I did.

Late in the evening on March 31st, I logged into my account to transfer a small amount from my home equity line of credit (HELOC) into my checking account, something I had done routinely for years. Over the past couple of months, I knew that even if I didn’t land a job right away, I had that line of credit I could tap into as a safety net. It provided a sense of relief in an already stressful situation. This time, the line of credit was gone. Closed. No warning whatsoever. Given the timing and everything else, I assumed it had to be a mistake.

The next morning, April 1st, I went into my credit union, the same institution I’ve been with since starting my career at IBM in 1990. I was told the HELOC had simply reached the end of its 10-year term and that I should reapply online. It sounded routine enough… It wasn’t!

After some issues with the online application, I ended up speaking with a loan officer I’ll call Mitchell, someone I knew from prior interactions at the credit union. He was professional, thoughtful, and genuinely tried to help. But the outcome was clear: I wouldn’t qualify, not because of bad credit or too much debt, but because I don’t currently have income. That was the entire calculation. In that moment, I couldn’t help but think of the line from Caddyshack: “You’ll get nothing and like it!” To his credit, Mitchell didn’t leave it there, he called me back twice afterward, trying to find alternatives. If anything, his persistence only reinforced that there simply wasn’t a path forward. I appreciated his efforts more than he probably realized.

With a credit score of 847 out of 850, zero credit card debt, roughly $700,000 in equity in my home, nearly ten times what I was asking for, and retirement assets that could more than cover my obligations, I assumed I was the definition of a low-risk borrower. I’ve also been with the same institution for 35 years, across both personal and business accounts. None of it mattered!

What I encountered wasn’t a nuanced evaluation of risk, but a binary one. The system didn’t weigh history or assets in any meaningful way. It saw one thing, “No income,” and everything else effectively disappeared.

That experience forced a realization. We tend to believe that financial systems reward long-term responsibility, and that discipline and consistency over time will matter when it counts. But what the system actually rewards isn’t discipline or responsibility; it’s whether you have income at the time of the loan application. As long as income is present, you are ‘low risk.’ The moment it isn’t, even temporarily, that definition changes entirely.

I don’t fault Mitchell in any way. He’s operating within a system designed to minimize uncertainty, not interpret context. But if someone with a near-perfect credit profile, significant assets, and decades of discipline is effectively locked out at the moment they need short-term flexibility, then it’s worth asking what the system is actually optimizing for.

I’ll work through this. I always do. And to my friends reading this, I know you’ll likely reach out, and I appreciate that more than you know. But please don’t worry, and there’s no need for anything crazy like a GoFundMe page 😊 I also know unemployment exists for exactly these situations, but for me, I just haven’t been able to bring myself to go down that path after everything I’ve invested in my education and career. That may be right or wrong, it’s just where I am at.

For most of my adult life, I believed in a kind of social contract: go to school, work hard, pay your bills, and the system will be there when you need it. On April 1st, I learned something else: It doesn’t reward responsibility, it rewards something much narrower: a single snapshot in time, whether or not you have income at the moment you apply.

After 35 years, I believed my bank would be there for me when it mattered. I was wrong. When that income isn’t there, the options don’t disappear, they just get worse. Take on promotional credit that eventually resets, pushing you into credit card debt, the very thing I’ve avoided my entire life. Or, start paying penalties to access your own retirement.

If that’s how we define risk, then we haven’t built a system to support people, we’ve built one that turns its back on them the moment they actually need it.

There are two kinds of dog owners in this world. There are people who have dogs and there are dog people. For the latter, dogs aren’t just pets. They’re family.

When my first dog passed, it devastated me more deeply than the death of my own father. If that sentence makes sense to you, then you’ll understand everything that follows. If it doesn’t, you can stop here.

This is Part-1 of my experience, which concludes on Friday, November 28, 2025. In Part-2, I will share the final results of everything that follows.

THE SUBTLE BEGINNING

In October, my dog Jetson, age 9½, lost a lot of weight in a very short time span. He was also drinking and urinating excessively. On Tuesday, October 21, 2025, I took him to the vet for a check-up.

Later that day, I received the diagnosis, “Your dog has diabetes.”

To my surprise, I felt relief. I had feared something far worse, cancer. What I didn’t know then was that my life, and his, were about to change dramatically.

At best, your daily routine will shift entirely. At worst, you could lose your dog to a treatable disease. It sounds harsh, but it’s the truth. I didn’t know at the time that the only treatment is insulin injections twice a day, every day, for life. No pill. No patch. No pen. No monthly shot. No automated device. Just you, a needle, and the dog who trusts you more than anything.

A WORD ABOUT VETERINARIANS

Before going any further, I need to make something perfectly clear.

In all the years I’ve owned dogs, and it’s been a very long time. I have never met a veterinarian who doesn’t deeply care about both the animals in their care and the people who love them.

I’ve been taking my dogs to my current veterinary clinic, which I’ll call VET1, for 25 years. They are skilled, compassionate, and always going above and beyond.

Any criticism I express here is not directed at any individual clinic or professional. This is an industry-wide issue that only became clear to me through this experience. It’s not a lack of compassion, it’s a lack of accessible delivery options. While some options do exist, owners likely only learn about them through an internal medicine specialist.

THE “TRAINING” THAT ISN’T REALLY TRAINING

Here’s what typically happens when your dog is diagnosed with diabetes:

• You’re given the diagnosis.

• You’re told your dog must be fed twice a day, 12 hours apart.

• You must give an insulin injection within 30 minutes after each meal.

• A vet tech walks you through a few practice injections using saline.

• You’re sent home with syringes and insulin, typically Vetsulin.

It sounds simple. It isn’t.

Your dog at the vet is NOT your dog at home. Everyone in veterinary medicine knows this, yet the system doesn’t truly account for it. Once you leave the exam room, treatment moves into your hands, into your home, under real-world conditions shaped by anxiety, exhaustion, resistance, financial strain, work pressure, and emotional overload. If everything goes perfectly, life moves forward, though your daily routine is forever changed.

If it doesn’t, panic takes over. Whether you’re emotionally ready or not. Whether you have help or are completely alone. You quickly discover how few true backup plans exist. In that moment, the system is essentially hoping it works because if it doesn’t, the consequences become devastating, fast.

On October 22, I didn’t yet know that within days, that quiet hope would collapse under the weight of reality.

THE NEEDLE PROBLEM

Let me say this plainly: Receiving a shot and giving one are two entirely different experiences.

I’ve never had trouble receiving injections myself, but giving one to someone or something else is entirely different. When it’s your dog, everything changes. Your breathing quickens. You fear hurting them. They sense your hesitation instantly. And, suddenly, both of you are afraid.

If you already struggle with needles, this situation would be nearly impossible. Add real-life stress to the mix, and it can completely unravel you.

THE FINANCIAL AND PROFESSIONAL REALITY I WAS LIVING IN

There’s another truth I need to be candid about: I work in the technology industry, and I’ve been unemployed since August. This is a terrible time to be unemployed in tech. I also live alone, and that matters more than most people realize. Even the vet techs openly acknowledged that giving insulin to a resistant dog is exponentially harder without a second person to help steady, comfort, or simply be there as emotional backup. When it’s just you and the dog, every failure lands squarely on your shoulders.

Yet, paradoxically, this hardship became the only saving grace in the entire crisis. I was able to devote my full, uninterrupted attention to both of my dogs. For every vet visit, every failed attempt, every emergency decision, every 2 a.m. panic spiral, I was there physically and emotionally, without distractions.

Had I been working, I honestly don’t know how I would have survived this. I suspect I would have needed to take a formal leave of absence. Daily logistics alone would have been impossible.

THE COLLAPSE

When I began giving the shots on October 22 at home for the first two days, I managed. Not gracefully, but I managed. By the third day, everything fell apart. My dog resisted. The more he resisted, the more anxious I became. I was in full panic mode. I couldn’t see a way forward. That night, I didn’t sleep. Not a minute.

I paced the house. I scoured Google, ChatGPT, YouTube, Reddit, desperately searching for a solution. How could a single person, living alone, already exhausted, possibly do this twice a day, forever?

And the reality hit: There is no alternative. If you love your dog, you must give the injections. There is no Plan B. I felt trapped and, worse, I felt like I was failing Jetson.

THE LIFELINE THAT WASN’T

On the morning of day 3, I brought Jetson back to VET1 to get his shot. The problem I now faced was what to do in the evening when my vet is closed.

Later that day, I went for a long walk to clear my head. I stopped by a small pet store I frequent. The owner took one look at me and asked what was wrong. I told her what had happened. Without hesitation, she handed me the card of a mobile vet tech (VETTech1), who specializes in helping owners through exactly these moments. I called immediately.

For five days, twice a day, VETTech1 came to my home to administer the injections at a cost of more than $100 per visit (over $200 per day). We coordinated every morning and every evening. She was skilled, patient, and kind, but in truth, the process only further traumatized Jetson. Eventually, he bit her, something completely out of character for him. It became clear that this was neither a scalable solution nor one I could afford to sustain for any length of time.

I returned to VET1 and pleaded for some options. She referred me to a specialist in internal medicine. Thankfully, I was able to get an appointment the very next day. I refer to this clinic as VET2.

FINALLY, SOME HOPE

By this point, I was completely exhausted; mentally, emotionally, and physically. I had researched canine diabetes relentlessly. What I learned was devastating. Single pet owners, people afraid of needles, or dogs resistant to injections often end up facing euthanasia. The thought of putting my dog down for a treatable condition haunted me.

As I met with veterinary specialist (VET2), she confirmed that insulin injections were still the only treatment. My heart sank. I turned white like Ultrabright toothpaste. Then she mentioned one option: There is a once-a-day long lasting insulin [called Degludec] that didn’t have to be given immediately after meals. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was hope.

I realized I could visit a vet once a day for the shot while working on desensitizing Jetson at home. For the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel completely trapped.

A PERSONAL LOSS AMID THE CHAOS

In the middle of all this, tragedy struck again.

On Tuesday, November 11, I lost my older dog, Chance, just one day short of his 17th birthday. Jetson was with me at VET1 that same morning to receive his insulin, as he had for the previous ten days, unaware that he was about to lose the companion who had been at his side for more than nine years. The weight of giving one dog life-sustaining medicine, while saying goodbye to another, is something I will never forget.

I had raised Chance since he was a puppy. Trying to fight for Jetson’s life, while losing Chance at the same time, is a trauma I still can’t fully put into words. Even now, I am still deeply grieving.

THE CURRENT PLAN

From November 1 through November 10, I drove Jetson every morning to VET1 to receive his new once-a-day insulin. The clinic is about 20 minutes from my home. On Sundays, however, I had to drive to VET2, where the specialist worked, because it is open 24 hours, including holidays and weekends. That trip was a 50-mile round-trip, an arrangement that was clearly not sustainable. Still, those daily drives quickly became part of our new survival routine, each mile fueled by the hope that we were finally moving in the right direction.

On November 12, one day after losing Chance, I made the smart decision to transfer Jetson’s daily injections to VET3, a clinic just five minutes from my house. The shorter drive eased the physical strain and slightly softened the emotional toll for both of us.

By November 22, for the first time, I finally saw what I had been desperate for; it was working. His blood sugar was meaningfully coming down. I could see the numbers in real time because he had been wearing a Freestyle Libre 3 sensor. For the first time since this nightmare began, I felt a genuine flicker of hope.

Then, on Thursday, November 27, his blood sugar began spiking again. On Friday, November 28, it was still elevated. The numbers climbed. The progress evaporated. I found myself exactly where I had been weeks earlier; scared, exhausted, and facing the haunting possibility that even this fragile solution was slipping away.

I was in complete and total despair.

LOOKING AHEAD TO PART-2

When a dog is first diagnosed with diabetes, the best possible outcome is that the dog easily accepts the injections. Based on what I’ve learned through conversations with veterinarians and my own research, I now believe this is more the exception than the rule.

Many owners, overwhelmed by fear, resistance, logistics, finances, and emotional exhaustion, end up putting their dogs down for a disease that is entirely treatable. After everything I’ve been through up through Friday, November 28, I now deeply understand and sympathize with those who face that heartbreaking decision.

In Part-2, I will share what ultimately worked, what didn’t, and where Jetson finally lands. As I write this, I don’t know the ending, and the uncertainty is heart-wrenching. Over the last six weeks alone, Jetson has endured more than any dog should, fighting this disease while also grieving the loss of his constant companion, Chance. I am determined to solve this for him. I will also share what I now believe every dog owner deserves to be told on the very first day of diagnosis. If I can solve this for Jetson and help even one family avoid this same ordeal, then this painful journey will have meant something.

EDITOR’S NOTE

I have included below an anonymized list of every veterinary clinic and veterinary technician involved in this journey through Friday, November 28, along with a timeline of key events. Together, they help illustrate not only the frenetic, exhausting, and emotionally overwhelming pace of what I’ve been living through day by day, but also the constant financial strain, where each injection requiring a separate fee that, depending on the provider, has ranged anywhere from $4 to $135 per shot.

My sole focus right now is getting Jetson healthy by stabilizing both his diabetes and his new diet. Once we reach that point, I will then begin working on desensitizing him so that I can administer his injections myself.

Legend for Veterinary Clinics & Technicians

• VET1: Primary veterinary clinic for both Chance and Jetson, approximately 20 minutes from my home.

• VET2: Internal medicine specialty clinic. Open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. The round trip from my home is approximately 50 miles.

• VET3: Veterinary clinic five minutes from my home, used solely for Jetson’s daily injections.

• VET4: 24/7 emergency veterinary clinic near my home. I visited once; they were unable to assist.

• VET5: Another 24/7 emergency veterinary clinic near my home.

• VET6: Specialty veterinary clinic assisting with Jetson’s dietary management.

• VETTech1: Mobile veterinary technician.

Timeline Highlights

• Oct 21: Jetson is diagnosed with diabetes by VET1.

• Oct 22–24: Home injections attempted. By the evening of Oct 24, Jetson will no longer allow me to administer his shots.

• Oct 25–29: VETTech1 visits twice daily to administer injections and help desensitize Jetson. During this period, Jetson eventually bites the vet tech and becomes deeply traumatized.

• Oct 30: Visit with the internal medicine specialist at VET2; transition to once-daily insulin and Freestyle Libre monitor.

• Oct 31: Return to VET2 for final fitting of the monitor and first injection of the new insulin.

• Nov 1–10: Daily 20-minute drive to VET1 for Jetson’s once-daily insulin.

  • Nov 2 (Sunday): I visit VET4 because they are open 24 hours on weekends and holidays. Despite the clinic being empty, I am made to wait over an hour with no assistance. I decide to leave and drive to VET2 for the injection.

  • Nov 9 (Sunday): I drive to VET2 for the injection.

• Nov 11: At VET1, Jetson receives his insulin the same morning I lose Chance, one day before his 17th birthday.

• Nov 12: Jetson’s daily insulin care is transitioned to VET3, five minutes from my home. This would have been Chance’s 17th birthday.

• Nov 16 (Sunday): I take Jetson to VET5 for his injection because they are open 24 hours and relatively close to my home.

• Nov 22: For the first time, I see Jetson’s blood sugar clearly begin to come down.

• Nov 23 (Sunday): I return to VET5, but the clinic is extremely busy. I then decide to drive to VET2 for the injection.

• Nov 25: I visit VET6 to refine Jetson’s diet. His nutrition is especially complex now because he is managing two conflicting conditions; bladder stones and diabetes.

• Nov 27 (Thanksgiving): I again attempt VET5, but it is once more overwhelmed. I return to VET2 for the injection. This is the first day Jetson’s blood sugar spikes again, signaling that something is wrong.

• Nov 28: I return to VET3 for the injection. Something is wrong. Is it the insulin? Are the vet techs administering the wrong dosage? Is this diet related? At this point, I am emotionally overwhelmed and in profound despair.

There’s a growing trend in America, a chorus of voices telling young people not to go to college. It’s an idea gaining traction from Silicon Valley to social media influencers who argue that higher education is obsolete in the age of artificial intelligence (AI). They claim you can learn anything online, build a business from your laptop, and bypass the debt and “woke” culture of universities altogether. It’s an appealing narrative, the myth of the self-taught genius who doesn’t need the system; but, for most people, it’s dangerous advice.

Even Bill Maher, someone I’ve admired for decades, has joined that chorus. As the longtime host of Real Time with Bill Maher on HBO, he’s made a career out of poking at society’s sacred cows. I saw his live show in Miami Beach in 2024 and had a great time, but when it comes to college, I believe he’s mistaken.

In his New Rule editorial on October 20, 2023, Maher told young people bluntly: “Don’t go to college.” He argued that universities have become overpriced indoctrination centers that burden students with debt while offering little real-world value. (Watch the segment here.) His frustration is understandable, but to tell an entire generation to skip college is not just misguided, it’s irresponsible.

Maher often conflates what happens outside the classroom with what happens inside it. The protests, politics, and performative activism he sees on campus have little to do with what actually happens in the classroom. Inside those rooms, students aren’t being indoctrinated; they’re learning to think critically, solve problems, and collaborate.

It’s also worth remembering that many of the world’s most transformative ideas were born in college, not outside it. Mark Zuckerberg came up with the idea for Facebook while he was a student at Harvard. The college environment gave him access to peers, networks, and inspiration that made the idea possible in the first place.

Maher’s critique that college is elitist, bloated, and increasingly irrelevant, has some truth in it. But it also misses the deeper point: higher education, at its best, isn’t about ideology or status. It’s about preparation for work, for citizenship, and for life. And yet, despite my admiration for him, I could not disagree more with his view on college.

Why College Mattered for Me

I was raised by a single mother who is an English professor and still teaches to this day. I was fortunate to grow up with one great parent who instilled in me a deep respect for education and the discipline that comes with it.

I’ll admit my bias: I’m a product of higher education. I hold two graduate degrees, including one from MIT, which for many students in finance, math, science, or engineering represents the pinnacle of opportunity. These fields demand rigorous training, mentorship, and discipline, things you can’t learn from YouTube tutorials or self-study. To dismiss the value of these institutions outright is to ignore the very ecosystem that fuels innovation and discovery.

I landed my first job at IBM through a connection made in college. The head of an engineering department (at IBM), who already had a degree in chemical engineering, returned to earn the same degree I was pursuing. That connection opened the door to IBM, where I learned how the world actually works.

That’s why I’m not a fan of the idea that students should jump straight into a startup after high school. My first company was eventually acquired by a public firm, Constant Contact. That never would’ve happened without the foundation I built through formal education and the experience I gained at IBM.

Coming right out of high school, it’s rare to learn how to manage expectations, resolve conflicts, and operate in a professional environment. Those lessons don’t come from isolation, startups, or generative AI, they come from time, mentorship, and real-world socialization. College offers that, and for today’s generation, it’s more important than ever.

What Maher Gets Wrong

Maher’s frustration with higher education is understandable. Tuition has exploded, bureaucracy has bloated, and cultural battles have crept into academia; however, those issues don’t define the classroom experience, especially in disciplines that build the future like finance, science, and engineering.

There’s a famous line in the movie Good Will Hunting where Will says, “You dropped a hundred and fifty grand on an education you could’ve got for a dollar fifty in late charges at the public library.” It’s a clever line, but it was never realistic. You can’t earn an engineering, medical, or science degree by reading a stack of books, then or now.

Today, you don’t need a library card to access information; you have access to the world’s knowledge in your pocket.* Information isn’t just cheap, it’s everywhere. Education isn’t about access to information; it’s about knowing what to do with it.

AI gives you answers; college gives you understanding.

The Benefits of College in Today’s World

1. Socialization matters. Many kids today, especially boys, are growing up isolated behind screens. Smartphones and social media have created a generation that connects digitally but struggles socially. Connectivity is not connection. College counteracts that. It provides structure, community, and in-person experiences that teach real communication, empathy, and teamwork. It’s where young people learn to live with others, build friendships, and find their footing as adults.

2. It’s where you grow up. College forces young people to manage their time, meet deadlines, and take responsibility for their actions. It’s often their first exposure to independence and accountability, learning how to balance freedom with discipline. Unlike the controlled environment of home or the endless distraction of digital life, college provides a space where students can experiment, fail safely, and mature into capable adults.

3. Networking is everything. As AI takes over more analytical and repetitive work, what will matter most are human traits like curiosity, adaptability, and emotional intelligence (EQ). College, at its best, cultivates EQ, the ability to understand others, manage yourself, and work through differences. It’s the human edge that machines can’t replicate.

Time vs. Scalability

I want to be clear because I don’t want to sound like a snob. I have enormous respect for people who work in the trades. I’ve used the same plumber for more than twenty-five years and couldn’t be more grateful for the work he does. It’s skilled, hands-on labor, that I neither have the ability nor the desire to do. I’m genuinely thankful that he does it, and does it so well.

He’s probably always made more than I on an hourly basis, and he deserves it. Now his grown son, is married and part of the business and likely earns the same. Together, they represent the backbone of skilled labor in America, which is indispensable.

But their story also highlights an important difference between professions built on time and materials and those built on leverage and scalability. Vocational work, whether plumbing, electrical, or even becoming a drone pilot, is critical to our economy. These careers are honorable and often well-paying, but they’re limited by the number of hours in a day. When the work stops, the income stops.

By contrast, when you build software or any scalable product, you’re not constrained by time or materials. A single idea, well executed, can reach millions. Higher education gave me the ability to create something that can grow, evolve, and even change the world, untethered from the limits of a workday.

And here’s the irony: as AI continues to reshape industries, many of these skilled trades will likely be the least disrupted. You can’t automate plumbing repairs, electrical work, or hands-on craftsmanship. These professions will remain vital precisely because they require physical skill, intuition, and human presence. These are the very things AI can’t replicate, at least not anytime soon. That’s why we need both paths: the scalable innovation that comes from education, and the enduring craftsmanship that keeps our world running.

College Isn’t Broken, It’s Evolving

The challenge for kids today, and it’s no small one, is figuring out which careers will survive the wave of AI. Every young person now faces a question that my generation never had to ask: Will my job even exist in ten years? That uncertainty makes the path forward more complicated than ever.

Maher’s cynicism comes from a real place: student debt, ideological drift, and overpriced degrees in fields with uncertain returns. The solution isn’t to abandon college, it’s to modernize it.

As AI and automation reshape work, the skills that will matter most are collaboration, creativity, and critical thinking, the deeply human abilities that machines can’t replicate. College cultivates those exact traits. It’s not just about what you know, but how you think, and how you respond when the world changes around you.

College isn’t obsolete; it’s unfinished. When done right, college isn’t a waste of time or money. It’s an incubator for imagination, discipline, and human connection. It’s the place where, for so many of us, life truly begins.

If I were an 18-year-old boy and someone handed me my current résumé, everything I’ve done and built some 30 years later, I would’ve thought, “This must belong to someone else.” That’s the beauty of college: You never know where it will take you. You go in with uncertainty and come out with direction and, along the way, that direction may change entirely as new opportunities appear. The path isn’t straight; it evolves with experience, curiosity, and timing.

College doesn’t just teach you how to work; it teaches you how to become.

Editor’s note:

* My comment about not needing a library card wasn’t meant to diminish the importance of libraries. In fact, libraries remain one of the most vital public institutions we have providing access, community, and opportunity for everyone, regardless of means. My point was simply that information is now accessible in more ways than ever.

It started with a hack.

I was a daily Facebook user for more than 15 years until, in April 2022, I was abruptly cut off through no fault of my own. My account was hijacked, even with two-factor authentication (2FA) enabled. Several of my financial accounts were also compromised. Companies like AMEX, PayPal, and even Yahoo! stepped in to help. Facebook did not.

For 30 days, I did everything humanly possible to recover my account. I submitted documentation. I followed their protocols. I pleaded with automated systems and support queues. Once my account was labeled “permanently disabled,” I was left with nothing but disbelief and anger. I didn’t just lose 15 years of content. I lost the digital context of friendships, shared moments, milestones, and messages that could never be recreated. Read the full story: Too Big Too Care

That experience was more than frustrating; it was a wake-up call about the dangers of centralized digital identity. It also marked the first time I seriously began reflecting on what it meant to be Gen X. Not just in how I perceived Big Tech, but in how I saw my place in a world that is being rapidly redefined by technology.

And that realization brought me to a larger truth. Gen X is the best-equipped generation to manage the digital transformation. The sweeping, ongoing shift from analog systems and human-centered processes to digital platforms, automated infrastructure, and centralized technologies that now shape how we live, work, connect, and define ourselves.

WHO ARE THE GENERATIONS?

Before diving deeper, it's worth defining the generational cohorts:

• Traditionalists: Born before 1945

• Baby Boomers: 1946 – 1964

• Generation X: 1965 – 1976

• Generation Y (Millennials): 1977 – 1995

• Generation Z: 1996 and later

WE WERE THF FIRST DIGITAL NATIVES

Gen X didn’t grow up with the internet in our cribs. We grew up outside riding bikes until the streetlights came on, and often long after. In our youth, we listened to 8-tracks, flipped records, and rewound cassette tapes with pencils. We were the Walkman generation. We memorized phone numbers, called friends from rotary phones, and met people face-to-face. We were in middle school or high school when MTV first hit the airwaves, bringing with it a cultural revolution. We witnessed the rise of hip hop, grunge, punk, and the birth of music videos as both entertainment and political expression. This exposure gave us a sense of how quickly media could shape society.

We were the first generation to grow up alongside the personal computer, from the Apple II and Commodore 64 to early PCs, DOS, Windows, OS/2, and dial-up. When the internet arrived, we were ready. We logged on. We adapted. We learned the languages of HTML, embraced AOL, explored chatrooms, and mastered email and file-sharing. Unlike Gen Z, who were born into a digital culture, or Boomers, who had to confront it later in life, we were the first to truly choose the digital world. What truly sets Gen X apart is our grounding in cultural memory.

We deeply understood the impact of World War II because we were raised by parents and grandparents who had lived through it. We were children during the Vietnam War. Young enough to be shielded from its horrors, but old enough to grasp the national trauma and recognize the mistakes. We internalized history not just from textbooks but through lived conversations around kitchen tables and Memorial Day ceremonies.

DIGITAL FLUENCY, REAL-WORLD ROOTS

Older Gen Xers are just beginning to turn 60, a milestone that puts their experience in a unique generational light. Many of us spent the first 20+ years of our careers commuting to physical offices, sitting in cubicles, attending in-person meetings, and building our professional lives face-to-face. Remote work and video calls were fringe concepts until the late 2000s. We were trained in the analog rituals of office culture before seamlessly transitioning to Zoom fatigue.

Gen Xers were the last to build their social networks in person before extending them online. We went to school without smartphones and built relationships before social media. This gives us a grounding that younger generations often lack. We don’t conflate connectivity with connection. We know how to shake a hand, write an email without Gen AI, and have a conversation without emojis or abbreviations. We also know how to scale those relationships digitally.

WE ARE THE TRANSLATORS

In workplaces, Gen X is the bridge. We manage Baby Boomers above and Millennials/Gen Z below. We translate across analog and digital.

We're not overwhelmed by change, but we're not addicted to it either. We know how to debug a printer and reboot a cloud server. We can code a website and manage a boardroom.

We’re bilingual in a way no other generation is and fluent in both eras.

CONCLUSION

My experience with Facebook was infuriating. Not just because I lost access to my account, but because it exposed how fragile our digital identities truly are. In that moment of vulnerability, I needed a company to care. Facebook didn’t.

That experience also reminded me of something else, the unique strengths my generation brings to the table.

• We built relationships in both worlds, analog and digital.

• We’ve adapted without losing our health, our humor, or our humanity.

• Our anxiety doesn’t come from screen time, it comes from watching the rising anxiety, loneliness, and depression in both our kids and our aging parents.

• We understand what’s being lost and what we’re still at risk of losing.

The digital transformation isn’t just about faster processors or smarter AI. It’s about what kind of society we become as the line between human and machine grows thinner, fuzzier, and harder to trace.

Gen X remembers what empathy looked like. We remember when trust was earned, not optimized. And that’s why, more than any other generation, Gen X is best equipped to lead the digital transformation.

Not because we’re the loudest.
Not because we’re the most wired.
But because we still remember what came before and what must endure.

We are the Second Greatest Generation. And if that resonates with you, you’re probably Gen X.