Every patch buys time. But time is only a gift if it helps others learn to stand. A reflection on the balance between holding things together and letting go.
True builders don’t need applause. Their pride lives in the quiet brag—the whispered I did that—when a detail works, a cost drops, or a problem gets solved. Worth isn’t defined by others’ recognition. It rests in the work you know you gave.
My father built with wood and wire. My mother shaped with thread and fabric. My great-grandfather carved doors in Puerto Rico that still swing shut today. Is this proof of a “gene for making”—or is making something remembered through practice, a Zen lineage chosen each day?
