The words are laid like rows of stones. Some are like minerals, shiny and precious while others are dull and featureless. But even these have a certain utility, these bricks, as I like to call them. They may not shine like the others, but they are necessary for the structure to stand.

The stones are mined from a quarry containing a life’s worth of material. The rich deposits have been made more complex, more beautiful, and even more flawed by the relentless effects of time and trial. The veins run deep and it is rare to find even a single ounce devoid of imperfection.

I pick through the rock, searching for the ideal size, something with distinctive shape, and color. I collect black tourmaline, smoky quartz, and a beautiful piece of turquoise. I know just where to place that one. Then, I stumble upon a glimmering amethyst, multi-faceted and sparkling with entendre. How fortunate.

I lay the stones, one after another, and for hours at a stretch, they fall into place as if arranged by providence. One by one, they are sequenced, the weight of their meaning swells with each course.

There is no blueprint, no master plan. The structure’s form is plotted entirely by instinct, imagination, and spontaneity. At times, I even look to the stones themselves to divine the direction I should take.

Soon, the rows form stout columns, the columns become scenes, scenes become chapters, and chapters fortify the halls of this dream-induced sanctum of speculative theme and plot.

After months of meticulous toil, in the pre-dawn darkness of a Wednesday morning, I proudly set the last stone in place. I am alone in my excitement.

I take some time to survey the grand architecture that has risen through sheer determination, and at times, brute force. I am overwhelmed by an immense sense of accomplishment, but my emotions are quickly tempered knowing the structure is weak. The first phase of construction was intended for speed, not durability. It will surely need renovation and reinforcement if it is to endure.

The renovations can wait, for today, I celebrate. I raise a glass to me.

Weeks pass before I revisit the structure. I find the time away provides a fresh perspective. It allows me to approach the work almost as a stranger first setting eyes upon a flawed creation. I will see errors and connections I might overlook otherwise.

I mentally prepare myself for the work ahead. It will be nearly as rigorous as the first phase, but I’m energized knowing the structure will stand more solid after the work is complete.

After the first pass of editing, the columns appear as if sprayed by machine gun fire. There are pockmarks in place of gems, and massive holes where bricks had been densely arranged. A run of gold I had been so fond of turned out to be pyrite, and to my dismay, many sections are reduced to rubble.

I begin to doubt many of the decisions I made along the way, but I’m far from feeling defeated. Instead, I put trust in the process. After all, every architect knows the best mortar is mixed with an abundance of sacrifice and self-doubt.

There is nothing left to do now but rebuild and make it stronger. I start at the top and methodically examine the framework, stone by stone, brick by brick. I go about replacing and rearranging. Where the stones are tightly spaced, I wrestle with a Jenga-esque puzzle in which removing a single row causes an entire column to collapse. The whole structure is at risk if I am not careful.

The repairs take time and persistence, but finally, the crumbled sections have been rebuilt, the bullet holes have been patched, and many of the bricks have been replaced by far more valuable stones. The mortar bonds strong and the structure shines bright. I even catch glimpses of myself reflected on its surface.

It is the end of a long and arduous journey. I am overjoyed, but there is also a part of me that feels hollow and directionless in the wake of my achievement. In truth, I have pangs of sadness that it’s over. The journey is what I am most interested in. It is always an intimate process of discovery that in so many ways has me discovering a lot about myself. There is still so much to learn.

My personal odyssey may have come to an end, but this is where the shared experience begins. So I throw open the doors and invite all to wander these halls and find something for yourselves, be it entertainment, enlightenment, or a different perspective. At a minimum, may you find a calm and inspired respite from the blunt chaos of the outside world.

I am grateful for your visit to this sacred space of vulnerability and meditation, this temple called Story.