I'm at the party sipping on a Sprite Zero when I spot a friend. I wave him over — he's in a suit, hair in flowing curls.
"Hey! How was your summer?" I ask.
"It was incredible. The hours were long, but I loved it."
"Tell me about it. What was your day-to-day like?"
"Oh, it was a lot. Seven-thirty wakeup. Get to the office by eight-thirty. Work until nine or ten, sometimes later."
"Sheesh. That's a lot."
"Yeah, we'd get out early on Friday. I'd go home and get my laundry done. And I'd be back at it midday Saturday. Sunday too," he says, raising his voice over the sounds of Dua Lipa.
"And you loved this?"
"I think I found something I'm great at. And it pays." There's a Rolex glinting on his wrist as he drinks from a beer can.
I smile and put my hand on his shoulder. "That makes me happy to hear."
"What about your summer?"
I hear my cup crinkle in my hand.
"I struck out on consulting, so I went on a cross-country road trip instead. Visited a bunch of national parks."
My collarbone tingles.
I'm hiking a dusty-red mountain in Big Bend, backpack slung over one shoulder and my other arm in a sling. Each step hurts a little.
The cup pops back.
"Damn, what a luxury," he says.
"But then I got lucky."
"Lucky?"
"A friend called. He needed someone on short notice for his startup. Client project with a tight deadline."
"How'd that go?"
"I forgot what I was missing. The 70 hour weeks. But that feeling. Of being good at it."
I look up from my Sprite and he's grinning.
"Man, your schedule sucks."