With five minutes to spare, I’ve arrived at the Hudson building. I lean against the wall. All is well. I breathe in through my nose for four beats, hold my breath for another four beats, and slowly exhale. My heart is still buzzing, rather than beating. Quick. What are five things I can see? Um, bare brown branch, purple chocolate wrapper, striped cafe awning…my own hand? Does that count?

My de-stressing techniques are mostly cobbled together from social media. I follow approximately seventy ‘wellness practitioners’, who are always urging me to keep calm, with slogans like ‘Root yourself in reality’. ‘Be present in the now’.

What is the now, though?

Is it work? Because sometimes, at my desk, I feel untethered, floating. I look up, and look around, and I can’t find anything to fix me in the space. Less than a month ago, when this job was simply a thrilling idea, I thought I was finally being asked to the party, after years of hoping for an invitation. But now, there is no proof that I belong. I wish there was a word for this nameless dread. In fact, I wish Harri would fire me, so I don’t feel quite so irrationally frightened every time she says my name. (’Imogen, would you like a coffee?’ ’Imogen, do you reckon we should be covering audio erotica?’ Never ‘Imogen, why did I bother to hire you, you worthless piece of shit?’ And yet…)

When I’m in the office, I’m certain that I’ll get sacked, sooner rather than later. But in there, at least that’s the worst thing that could happen. Out here, beyond the glass doors, I’m tormented by the mights and maybes.

Being present in the now is a luxury. You don’t choose to spend your hours breathlessly running through your terrifying future, you’re forced into it out of necessity.

Still, even though I constantly anticipate despair, I live in hope. I have to. And I finally have exactly what I’ve been hoping for, after waiting so long. The dream job at the end of the rainbow.

And it felt so much better in the future than it does right now.