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LinkedIn prods me: “Your account has been in hibernation for 6 months.” I think to myself, “So what?” and hit delete. But by morning, I’m peering in, wondering what’s new.

I find my former manager being congratulated by a multitude of well-wishers on their new role. I decide not to join them, as it feels a bit galling that they came and went so fast. Momentarily, I consider quipping, “Sorry we broke you,” but realising that’s too close to the bone, I move on.

Scrolling, scrolling, these are all people that I used to know. Some of them have accrued impressive new job titles, others new acronyms after their name. Mostly, they’re a bunch of people in perpetual transition, moving from one role to another. This is that thing we call “career progression”.

Yes, that thing, which has caused me to crash so many times in recent years. I look at the great variety of roles others have had, rising that imaginary ladder into senior leadership, and then I look back at myself, witness to nothing but this constancy.

It’s at this point that I stop scrolling, and kill that tab, returning to my work. I remember why I last put LinkedIn into hibernation mode. It’s not a sleight on the ambitions of others. I just realise this foray is likely to undermine my own fragile contentment.

I’ve learnt to live a different kind of life. Here we remain in our little house in our working-class neighbourhood, second-hand car outside. Were it not for pride and the pressure of external expectations, would I not be perfectly content with this life of ease, unburdened by debt?

Truth be told, this is the most I deserve. I was never on the trajectory of any of my peers, no matter how haughty or humble. Not with these cognitive deficits, this perpetual brain fog, those early language impairments, that long-lasting lethargy.

For me, contentment is definitely the way to go. To be content with the niche that’s been cut out for me, no matter the lack of prestige or status. It’s an honest wage, with good working conditions. Dare I swap it for a lengthy commute in pursuit of some kind of mythical golden role?

No, that’s not my world. Nor is the world of LinkedIn. “Stay in your lane,” I remind myself, retreating back into obscurity once more.