The hum of the black car was a low, steady thrum against the asphalt, a gentle vibration that worked its way through the plush leather and into her bones. Outside, the city bled into a smear of greens and grays, buildings rising and falling like a slow, deliberate breath. Sarah wasn’t on her laptop. She wasn’t making calls. Her gaze was simply tracking a particularly persistent pigeon that seemed to be racing them for a full 4 blocks.
She was heading into one of the biggest pitches of the quarter, a meeting that demanded razor-sharp focus and an ability to counter every possible objection with a compelling, airtight narrative. Yet, she wasn’t reviewing slides. She wasn’t rehearsing her opening 4 sentences. Instead, she was just… watching. The passing landscape, the shifting light, the small, almost imperceptible nuances of urban life unfurling beyond the window pane. It was a radical act of non-doing, one that few in her field would ever admit to, let alone embrace. But she knew, deep down, this was precisely how she arrived mentally present – not just physically. She’d learned this the hard way, many, many times over 4 years.
The Monetization of Transit
I remember those days, not so long ago, when the commute itself felt like the first skirmish of the day. You’d fight an hour, sometimes an hour and 4 minutes, of traffic, only to arrive at the client’s pristine, gleaming lobby
