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There’s a story they tell in parts of rural Texas, the kind that starts with a man on the edge. Sometimes he’s a soldier. Sometimes he’s just a son who never made it home from the war inside himself. He’s out on some land, shotgun in one hand, maybe a bottle in the other. And just when the ground starts to give beneath his boots, he sees something. Not a light, not an angel, just the faintest tremor of a different way. A strange, bitter root. A whisper from the borderlands. A

I spent the first act of my professional life inhabiting roles that rewarded a particular metaphysics: everything important can be measured, everything measured can be managed, and anything that couldn’t hadn’t been mastered yet. I was good at being a CFO. I liked it. The problem came when the workday ended and the worldview didn't. I planned vacations like product launches. I had metrics for relationships. I committed to this worldview like a fake foreign accent you adopt af