After leaving the old world, I did not immediately enter a new certainty.
More often, I was simply pushed onward. One thing followed another; surroundings and positions changed, and there was little time to stop and ask whether I had actually found my footing.
Some places still looked powerful while cracks appeared inside. Some orders I had known intimately had quietly changed how they worked by the time I looked back. Elsewhere, nothing was settled, yet operations were already being forced to accelerate. They moved at different rhythms, but all were changing.
I often had a feeling then:
The world was not in disorder. I simply could no longer find a place where I could remain for long.
That feeling did not immediately produce a decision.
It only made it difficult to trust any claim that “this path will definitely be fine.”
My own life was also changing gradually.
My children were beginning to face a world unlike the one I had known at their age. Their problems, anxieties and intuitions about the future showed me how difficult it had become to hand down our once-unquestioned experience unchanged.
Meanwhile, the reality I encountered became increasingly complex.
It was no longer one job or industry, but different places, working methods and technological choices producing entirely different feedback at the same time. Things not fully understood were already affecting life. Changes not yet named had already become impossible to ignore.
Through this, I did not deliberately set out to leave a record.
I simply found that some thoughts could no longer be contained,
and that some feelings would become more confused unless set down.
Writing them was not an attempt to deliver conclusions.
It was more a way to check something:
After change had happened, could I still see, remain willing to think, and keep moving forward?
This book was not planned from the beginning.
It was gradually pressed out of a life that kept changing.