the sun hit the mango slices just so and i thought about someone who asked if i missed it, the other life, and the pause told me everything i needed to know because it wasn't the work or the money or the… anything, it was the feeling of being needed, like a structural beam holding it all up, the city, the firm, the… you know, and here, cosmo needs me to throw the damn ball every like his life depends on it, and that's smaller, maybe, but it's also ALL of it, you know? like maybe you don't have to hold up a whole damn building to… like, the sun on the mango tastes better now than any damn power lunch ever did. or maybe i'm just really good at pretending. There's a seduction to being the linchpin, the one who holds it all together -- a sort of "chosen one" narrative that strokes the ego. It took burning out completely to realize that being replaceable isn't a weakness, it's a blessing, freeing me to find the smaller, sweeter roles where I'm actually present.