In a fluorescent-lit office merging into open sky, a lone employee scales an absurdly tall ladder labeled with ascending job titles. He passes “Manager,” “Director,” and more, each rung a promise of the next promotion.
The higher he climbs, the thinner the air of ambition becomes. Hustle culture taught him that above the clouds awaits success – perhaps a corner office on a mountaintop – so he ignores the dizziness and keeps climbing.
Below, colleagues appear as tiny dots lost in cubicle fog, while above him the ladder vanishes into a haze of lofty goals. Yet with each pull upward, he wonders if there’s anything up there at all.
The punchline of this climb? When he finally reaches what he thinks is the summit, he finds nothing but another ladder. In the endless ascent of ambition, the top of one ladder is just the bottom of the next.
