I'm killing it—
    checking boxes,
    closing issues,

    stacking wins like firewood,
    slaying tasks with daylight to spare.

But between emails,
            checking boxes,
            nailing meetings,
    in the margins of every moment—

    I'm somewhere else.

Booking flights,
    chasing reservations,
    gathering jokes like souvenirs,
    songs like snapshots—

    small gifts to fill the quiet spaces between tasks.

Work gets done.

Work always gets done.

But she slips in—
         quietly,
      constantly,

      in the seconds that used to pass unnoticed.

Turns out,
      there’s plenty of room
      to be excellent—

      and still daydream relentlessly.

Turns out,
      being productive—

      feels a lot like waiting.

Turns out, “working hard” is easy…

      when there's a reason *why*.