The routine of a well-run rat race. In a rush to the corner office, we merge lanes at break-relationship speed and careen against the walls of our respective mazes. The sound of dreams screeching to a halt quickly enough to see sparks fly. It’s not a landing all of us will walk away from. Not with heads held-high, anyway. Twice a month, you remember why it’s all worth it. While every night in-between, you ask yourself exactly when it was that your happiness became worth so little?