The moments people walked over him. The subtle dismissals in meetings. The way clients talked to him like they knew his job better than he did. The sleepless nights he spent patching together last-minute pitch decks while others sent emoji reactions from their phones.
It was the moment last week when he sat across from his boss, going over the quarterly numbers, and heard the phrase: “We just need you to push harder.” Harder? What did they think he was doing now? Napping between deadlines?
And then there was home—if he could still call it that. The place he returned to after each business trip, more tired than before. His apartment was silent, spotless, and full of things he never used. The smart TV, the unopened board games, the whiskey he kept on the top shelf “for guests” who hadn’t come around in over a year.
He had friends, technically. Coworkers he grabbed lunch with. Contacts in other cities he texted during conferences. But they were all tangled up in their own stress, their own hustle. No one had time to really check in anymore. Everyone was tired. Everyone was trying to hang on.