There is room to hide in organizations of thousands, when we don't need to—often don't have the option to—shake the hands that change money—real money. Cognitive dissonance there is easy; it is a natural byproduct of the work that we do and the way that we do it. We close tickets and tell ourselves little mantras of self-aggrandizement: "I am a very, very important cog in a very, very important machine." We see no evil. We hear no evil.

For those who paused at a fork in the road and opted for a different course at any point in the past lustrum, a K-shape is forming.

Fueled by curiosity, an addiction to productivity, and a pinch of conceit, a small group of young people selected a leg of this K and hurtled themselves into the belly of the beast. Here, cognitive dissonance is not so easy. Here, we must accept support and allyship from hands stained red. Or we must burn the midnight oil through our prime and work our way into obsolescence.

We spin in circles atop incredulous stacks of monopoly money with a knife pressed firmly between our shoulder blades. We blur the lines between work, life, and play. We are gods! We built everything out of nothing! We are nothing.

We spin and spin endlessly. Still cogs in the machine.