Move-in day was supposed to be exciting. My parents drove me six hours to a campus I'd visited once, helped me carry boxes up three flights of stairs, and then.
I punched a hole in my bedroom wall when I was 25. Not because anything terrible had happened — I'd burned a grilled cheese sandwich. That was it. A burnt.
I wrote my first line of code at 30 years old, sitting in a coffee shop, convinced I was too old to learn. Everyone around me seemed to have started…
I tried meditating for the first time on a Tuesday morning. I sat cross-legged on my bedroom floor, closed my eyes, and tried to "clear my mind" like every.
I bombed the most important conversation of my career on a Thursday afternoon. I was negotiating a raise with my boss — the raise I'd earned, the raise I.