Tomorrow I’m going to make a castle.

My core story is made of sand castles. And this is the eternal battle for this core story, making the beauty and capturing it before the next set of waves come in. Some days, the weather doesn’t quite cooperate, and there are no castles made. Today no castles were made. Tomorrow , one will be made. It may be more beautiful than the last, or it may just be a bucket of sand tipped over, in a brief defiance of the waves to come.  And some times, there’s that day, that moment that you notice there is another set of hands building that castle with you. And for that day, the castle is larger, stronger, yet also more detailed, finer. There’s an elegance and curve along with the normal linear. And sometimes even more than one pair of hands helps build the castle. And that castle, the one to beat all castles stands there beautiful, strong for just a little bit longer.

This was an exercise at a writing seminar about your view of view life. This seems to fit my current view pretty well

But always one corner starts to fall due to a wave coming in. And you and the other hands build ramparts, moats, retaining pools, all to save this beautiful thing you have built. And yet the waves still come, the tide still comes. And as you look around, the hands get less and less, and the castle piece by piece falls apart. You dig harder and faster, and buttress the core that you try to save, and no matter how fast you work, the water is faster. And suddenly, you notice, you’re alone. You feel panic. You feel anger. Frustration growls out of your ragged breath as you run along the front, digging, pushing.  In your panic you get sloppy and another corner falls due to haste. Until finally, all there is is the single tower left in the middle, not as tall or sharp as before but still standing. You feel victory. Your hands are raw, abraded, sand stuck everywhere, and just then the smallest, most gentle wave slips in and undoes the center of your castle. In that moment you sit there, and let the waves crash over you. Salty & warm. Salty & cold. And you sit there, wet, defeated. In time, the waves retreat, you dry off, and as you sit there, you see the sunlight, a single finger that points and shines along the water, the water that was so deadly the night before, which now seems calm and beautiful. That finger of reflected light makes it all the way to your feet, before the sky is fully lit, and you bask in the glow for a moment before you decide to build another castle. Maybe some hands will come, maybe they wont. But it will be a good castle.

It’s a reminder to find beauty in the moment. For the tide comes in, slowly, wave by wave and your castle is eaten away in a day. Sometimes you may be asleep, with sun warming you, lulling you into Castle Complacency, and other days you fight until you can’t see anymore under the setting sun. Either way, the waves win. And you have to decide what will be for the next day.

Is this Sad? Happy? Poignant? Pathetic? Confronting? Avoiding? Meaningful? Meaningless? Panic? Zen?  I suppose a bit of all, and it depends on the day. All I know is
Tomorrow I’m going to make a castle.





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