I embrace the moment. I do not get lost seeking the final destination.

Ask anyone who got the promotion how long it felt like an achievement. Four days is a common answer. By the second week it is just the desk you sit at, and a new horizon has quietly installed itself further out.

Destinations have that habit. They keep the same distance from you, like the end of a corridor in a dream.

Which leaves the middle — the commute, the inbox, the work itself — as the actual material of a life, rather than the toll paid to reach one.

That is either bleak or a considerable relief, depending on how much of the middle you have been treating as a waiting room.