After a layoff, a veteran editor found reprieve from an AI-obsessed job market in the steady presence of the Mourning Doves, mockingbirds, and scrub-jays outside her window. A Mourning Dove, dubbed "Disco Queen" by the author, perches outside her window. Photo: Sheri Reed My boss didn’t even say hello. He just said my name and read from a script. And that was it. Seven years in that editor role role and, in 60 seconds, the job was done. I had nurtured the work with great pride and care. Pretty tough to turn that off like a faucet. I wished I could vacuum the suddenly useless information, and my weird adoration for it, from my brain. I closed my computer and stared out the window. A Mourning Dove blinked at me, eyes ringed in baby blue like a ‘70s disco queen, and I looked back, a newly laid-off 50-something. It was something to be witnessed. After that, each jobless day was equally as jarring. I was lonely, adrift in the sudden black hole of unstructured days.…