The dinner you're still thinking about.
There were eight people seated at this table. You got your invitation from work, the same way it's gotten you so much else.
Then somebody mentions a name. Not a famous one; known.
Half the table nods. Someone answers with a place, someone else with a vintage, and the conversation moves through three doors in four minutes. Everyone walked through, but none of them held it open for you.
You said less that night than you say in any meeting. And it wasn't because you had nothing to offer, but because you couldn't find the handle.
On your home commute, the truth gnaws at you:
Nobody at that table was smarter than you. Most of them haven't even built anything close to what you've built.
They were handed a codebook.
But you were handed a work ethic.