Grabbing a handful of wet, saturated sand, I let it dribble through my finger tips. I watch each drop pile on top of the previous, draining away the water and leaving a new building block of solid sand. Too much water and the previous drip will be washed away. Too little and the sand cracks and refuses to hold together. I watch the sand grow, getting into a rhythm that ensures just the right amount of water, without thought.
My thoughts are not on the mechanics of building a drip castle with sand. Instead, I’m thinking of the spire that I’m building. Can I build these two spires toward each other and form an arch? Can I make this slender spire taller?
Frequently I fail and a part of the castle slides down, becoming part of the landscape again. Or becoming a foundation for a new part of the castle. No matter. It’s the building of the castle that brings me joy–not the owning of it. For I will never own it. The sea soon comes and takes it away.
Last weekend, I drove six hours down to Floyd, Virginia for a Code Retreat organized by Gustin Prudner and led by Corey Haines. There, I joined thirty-some people working in pairs and threes on Conway’s Game of Life for forty-five minutes at a time. Then, Corey would call time, and we would wash away all traces of what we’d built.
Does that sound like a waste of time?
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