A deal fell apart for the sixth time. An old story rebooted in my chest like corrupted software. I watched someone glide through life like a ballerina and felt something crack open that had nothing to do with her. I sat in a room I used to dream about and my hands wouldn't stop fidgeting. This week broke me open in the best way. You're not behind. You're not broken. You're just finally in the room — and the timeline you drew up at twenty was never the point.