Hello hello... I’m back. Mom is home post-MWA; now we just wait for the scans in a few weeks. Thank you all for the wishes.

In the hospital waiting room, I took a few critical work calls. I was just sitting there anyway, so why not? Later, one of my juniors (early 30s) was visibly horrified. “They made you work?!”

“They who??” I asked. No one made me; I chose to be there on those calls because the work was important and, frankly, it’s the tether to reality that keeps me from spiraling. The band must play on.

She walked away in a huff: “I hope I never become like you.”

To her, it’s a tragedy of "toxic hustle." To me, it’s a choice.

Is meaningful work the cage that traps us, or the anchor that keeps us from drifting when the waves get too high?

Is the new generation finally learning to set "healthy boundaries," or are we just losing the resilience that once defined our grit?