David McElroy

I quit one of my jobs today.

It’s really more accurate to say that I made official what I had already planned to do. I let people in my department know that I’ll be gone at the end of June. I introduced them to the guy I’m recommending to take my place. So now it’s official. I’ll be gone from here in a month.

When a long-time friend — who was the chair of the computer science department — called to offer me this job almost five years ago, I first turned it down. I’m ashamed to say that it felt beneath me to work part-time for a college overseeing computer labs and helping students with their problems.

But I was broke and desperate. I hadn’t figured out how to transition from my previous days as a political consultant. I was looking for a big opportunity, but none had come my way.

I’m grateful now for a small opportunity that offered me a lifeline while I needed it.

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I read this week that close to half of American households would be unprepared for an emergency that cost them $400. I had a mixed reaction to this news.

I felt thankful that I’m not among them, but I felt a shiver of empathy for them — because I was one of them not very long ago.

Back when I was working in politics full time, I made a nice living. After I became experienced and well-known in my political circles, I didn’t make less than six figures in a year, sometimes substantially more than that. I was comfortable and I bought what I wanted. I had plenty of money.

About 10 or 12 years ago, I started getting out of politics. I’ve talked about this before. I lost respect for what I was doing. I came to believe it was wrong, both pragmatically and philosophically. But it was hard to turn the money down. Slowly, though, I “sabotaged” my way out of politics.

That’s when things turned ugly.

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