Pride? I tossed it to the dogs.

Back when I worked in pharmaceutical sales,
month-end meant running from one clinic to another—
not for meetings or reports,
but to collect payments. In person.

One day, I stopped by a well-known psychiatric clinic.
Before I could even say a word, the doctor snapped at me:

“Do you know how busy I am today?
Why are you here causing a scene when I’m this busy?
I can’t pay you. Get out.”

My face burned,
and the card reader in my hand started to shake.
That clinic alone made up 30% of my monthly sales.

Still, I just smiled and said,
“I’m sorry. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

I told a friend about it later,
and he asked, “Didn’t that hurt your pride?”

I said,
“Pride? Come on.
Losing that client and not being able to provide for my family—
that’s what would’ve really hurt.”

That evening after work,
I grabbed a beer from the convenience store,
stepped outside, and took a sip.

Where my pride used to be,
that sip of beer settled in.
And for that one moment,
a small corner of my empty self felt a little less hollow.

Life?
What’s there to figure out?
You just keep going.