I reached it.
I want to say that plainly
before I say anything else.
I reached it.
Every time they raised it,
I reached it.
The specialization they suggested.
I got it.
The publication they implied was missing.
I wrote it.
The committee work they said demonstrated commitment.
I sat on the committees.
I sat on the committees for institutions
that had not yet decided
whether I was worth a permanent seat at the table.
I reached the bar.
And then I watched the thing I had always suspected
become a thing I could no longer pretend not to see.
They raised it.
Quietly.
Without announcement.
With the particular institutional grace
of people who have never had to say out loud
what they are actually doing.
One more credential.
One more year of experience.
One more thing the committee felt
the position required.
I climbed.
I reached.
They raised.
Twenty-five years of that geometry.
Here is what I know now
that I did not let myself know then:
The bar was never the point.
The bar was the mechanism.
The bar was the way a system
keeps a person reaching
instead of arriving,
keeps a person grateful for the climb
instead of angry about the ceiling.
I am not climbing anymore.
I am standing still
in the knowledge of what I reached
and what that reaching cost
and what it was worth.
It was worth everything.
The ceiling was the lie.
Ya no trepo. Me quedo donde sé lo que valgo.
I no longer climb. I stay where I know my worth.
