On the job, you had to build bridges.

People who could get you there.

If the destination was to the successful upgrade of software.01 to software.02, then you had to build a long line of bridges over the ravines - someone who knew distribution, someone who knew installations, someone who spoke French and knew the receiving clerk at the Montreal office.

Bridges, as far as the eye could see, spanning between the little tick marks on the plan.

The admin for the VP was the bridge to getting on the agenda. The Director of Human Resources was the bridge to the best temporary help.

And then, you had to be a bridge for everyone else in their turn.

Flip. Reach. Flop.

After a big conference, we'd huddle up in groups - negotiating who could get you where. "Oh, you used to be in the Malaysia office? Do you still know the networking guys there?" I would say. "Here's my card, could I have one of yours?"

I found one of my old cards this morning.

In my head, it sparked a thank-you letter I always meant to write. And never did.

To one of my old bosses. I just... left it. Left it too long. And then it was over.

He was the first executive who relied on me to be his bridge to somewhere. Who gave me a taste of the recognition that came from pulling it off at that lofty level. Of having names usually seen in press releases now signing emails. Sent to me.

I wanted to tell that old boss how I'd appreciated all he'd done for me, but I didn't know how. He was a big part of the reason I was given such amazing projects.

If he hadn't helped me see the corporate world through his perspective, I would have never known such success. Or what it could all lead to.

I would never have seen where the rainbow ended.

Or asked myself if I wanted to go there.

And I wouldn't have known, that night as we left the hospital.

As my husband looked at me when the doctors handed us the release papers. Trapped my eyes across the hallway, and then took two steps and grabbed me up tight.

As my son tiredly reached up to CD and I from that overlit bed, begging to go home. And how it was all right once we had gathered him up. How he fell asleep on CD's shoulder, because home isn't our house - it's us.

That being the bridge, even an executive one, may be a great gig. One that stretches and challenges a mind and a career and brings great responsibility and rewards.

But I don't want to spend my life bridging people to somewhere else.

I want to be that look in their eyes. The name they call through the door. The one who doesn't see life as finite dots to be connected.

I want to be the destination.