Alex and Claire | Seeing Around Corners
This isn’t the first time Alex and Claire have traded ideas, but it’s the first time we’ve listened in.
TEXT THREAD – 10:47 AM
Alex:
You ever get the feeling your brain’s three meetings ahead of your calendar?
Claire:
Only three? You’re slowing down.
Alex:
Ha. Forecasting call just ended. Everyone nodded like we’re in control. We’re not.
Half the project’s built on “assuming supply holds.” I’m already mapping backups.
Claire:
Mapping or spiraling?
Alex:
Both, maybe. Isn’t that what they pay me for - seeing around corners?
Claire:
Corners, yes. Every possible alley, maybe not.
(pause)
Alex:
If I don’t, who will?
EMAIL – 10:22 PM
Subject: corners again
Alex:
Sorry for the brain dump this morning. You probably had better things to do than coach a half-panicked ops guy. I keep replaying that leadership course we did—the part about “anticipate to adapt.” Everyone loved the slide. Nobody mentioned that anticipation feels like waiting for an accident you’re trying to prevent.
Anyway, curious how you keep from living three steps ahead.
– A
Claire → Alex
Re: corners again
Alex—
It’s funny you ask. I used to call it strategic insomnia: eyes wide open at 2 a.m. “just in case.”
Eventually I learned the difference between readiness and restlessness. One prepares; the other rehearses disasters that never audition.
You’ll learn the balance—probably the hard way. Most of us do.
C
TEXT – Next Morning
Alex:
So the trick is learning when to stop rehearsing?
Claire:
Yes. The music still plays even if you’re not conducting every bar.
Alex:
Easy for you to say.
Claire:
Not really.
Claire – Later That Night
Claire closed the laptop and watched its glow fade across the room.
She thought of Alex’s last line and of the years she’d spent pacing her own corridors of contingency.
Readiness had once been her pride - her armor, even - but she knew how easily it slid into restlessness.
She smiled in the half-dark, recognizing herself in his worry.
Then, with a practiced flick, she reached for the light switch—the closest thing she’d ever found to an evacuation button—and let the room go quiet.
