House of cards

I spent Sunday afternoons in middle school building houses of cards. The reason or the quest behind this activity remains largely unknown to this day.

House of Cards (c. 1737), Pierre Filloeul

For hours, I would obsessively put a card against another card, forming a hut-like structure, and then a second, and then a third. Then came the second layer, and the same process.

And then a simple mistake - or a whiff of air caused by someone charging into the room or just passing by - would erase the entire effort and force me to start from scratch. I did not feel much beyond a few minutes of disappointment when the cards went flat, but a desire to build it again slowly took over.

Sometimes, I would have a house of cards in one go; other times, I would spend three hours just getting one done.

I could not have shared my angst, for I thought this activity did not matter enough for anyone to actually care. But it served as my early, unintentional anchor in cultivating patience with solitary journeys, quiet repetition, and process.

I think about those Sundays today as I reflect on the quiet agency, grit, patience, and love for process required to build anything worthwhile and to keep at it every day.