I’m sitting here, staring at this ridiculous landscape painting in my office – it’s all serene forests and distant mountains – and all I can think is, *this* is what I traded for? For the endless calls, the billable hours, the constant performative competence. My dad spent his whole life *in* places like that, *preserving* them, and I… I’m not even sure what I’m preserving anymore. Just a lifestyle that feels increasingly meaningless, a gilded cage I built myself, and I honestly can’t discern if this is genuine regret or just some manifestation of burnout (or maybe both?). Like, do humans just… realize one day they’ve made a fundamental miscalculation about what constitutes a fulfilling existence? I don’t understand this feeling, this profound dissatisfaction, and why it feels so much heavier tonight.