3:31 PM

His calendar was full until six.

At 3:31 somebody cancelled.

Twenty-nine unexpected minutes appeared in the middle of his day.

He made coffee.

For once, nobody needed anything from him.

His children were doing well.

His mortgage was manageable.

His career had worked out.

He had achieved several things his thirty-year-old self would have considered proof that life had gone according to plan.

He sat at the kitchen table.

And couldn't think of anything he wanted.

That disturbed him more than wanting something he couldn't have.

For decades there had always been a next thing.

The promotion.

The house.

The business.

The target.

The children's education.

The problem that needed solving.

Now there was space.

He had assumed space would feel like freedom.

Instead, it felt strangely like standing in an empty room.

At 3:57, his next meeting reminder appeared.

He clicked Join.

Given who I actually am, what makes sense from here?