We toiled away in the hot sun.
Our task was to build a sandcastle. And as the salty air clung to our skin and the sea breeze lingered, my sister and I were hard at work.
We would fill buckets with coarse sand. Then, we’d return to the build site and invert the buckets, molding that packed sand into a series of turrets and exterior walls.
It was an amateur operation, to be sure. But for a couple of kids under the age of 8, it wasn’t anything to be ashamed of.
My father watched us intently. He was the one who had given us our marching orders, and he was also overseeing the construction.
My father was fully qualified for the job. He didn’t have an engineering degree. But he did have a habit of fixing sink drains and rehanging picture frames whenever we visited friends and family.
The hosts wouldn’t ask my father to fix these issues. Instead, he’d insist on doing so. For it ate at him to see something askew.
Given his background, my father wasn’t going to let his kids build some flimsy sandcastle. So, when he instructed us to build a moat around the castle, we went all in. It wasn’t long before the modest castle was surrounded by a ditch so wide, it might as well have been a Bayou.
When it was complete, I stood and admired our masterpiece.
This creation will endure, I thought. It will still be standing tomorrow.
But as I envisioned all this, I felt seawater crash into my legs.
A rouge wave had invaded our moat. And just like that, our castle was gone.
My experience on that day was not unique.
Beachgoing kids the world over have similar stories to tell. Heck, the Ocean Swallows Sandcastle tale is practically a rite of passage for anyone who’s spent their summers under a sea breeze.
I was stunned at first, but I quickly got over the ordeal. There were plenty of other beach activities to take part in.
And yet, I’ve never quite forgotten the experience. Or what it stood for.
As I saw my sand creation wash away, I learned firsthand that there is no way to guard against chance. We can follow all the right procedures and still have our creations swiped from us. Our hard work can be all for naught.
That’s a difficult pill to swallow for anyone. But as we get older, the gut punch feels especially poignant.
After all, the longer the road back, the harder it is to reboot.
Fall seven times. Stand up eight.
This is an old Japanese proverb. One that Converse turned into a shoe commercial featuring basketball superstar Dwyane Wade.
This proverb resonates because it’s relatable. Many of us have been knocked down in our lives. But we’ve still found a way to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and keep going.
Yes, resilience is a hallmark of American culture. We root for the underdogs, embrace adversity and openly share the challenges we overcome.
I’m not sure whether this zeal comes from our rugged past or our love of narrative. Either way, most American success stories seem to come in the face of resistance.
Still, these stories gloss over a critical detail. The fall we endure is relatively minor, while the climb from the depths is more sustained.
This narrative pattern fits with literary tradition. As >Kurt Vonnegut once said, people want to see the hero go from average to well above average.
We can stomach the idea of our hero falling into a hole. That stumble is just a character-building detour on our way to glory.
But the concept of a hero plummeting off a cliff? The prospect of building something up just to lose it all? That makes us queasy.
And yet, that’s the scenario we all too often face.
Like many writers, I am an introvert.
I once took an assessment for my job. On it, I scored 96 out of 100 for introversion. It was a mark that would make a hermit blush.
I embrace solitude. I am not afraid of silence.
Yet, my independent streak has its limits. I’ve lived more than a thousand miles away from my family for my entire adult life. And throughout that time, I’ve come to recognize how important it is to rely on others.
So, I’ve embraced the world beyond my door. I’ve expanded my circle of influence, making friends and gaining connections along the way. And I’ve taken some volunteer leadership positions — including the local chapter presidency for my alma mater.
I fortified my castle, stepping well out of my comfort zone to build a life the younger me would have found unfathomable. I was reaching my pinnacle. I had it all.
And then, it was taken away.
Much like that rouge wave at the beach, a deadly virus came out of nowhere to disrupt reality. It forced all of us to cut off social interactions, cancel events and avoid travel.
The initial shock proved tolerable. But as weeks turned into months, I started to see all the progress I’d made over a decade washed away.
Suddenly, I was fighting to hang on to friendships. I was parting with time-honored traditions. And I was losing my touch as a leader.
The virus hadn’t taken my life or my livelihood. But it had taken nearly everything else.
All the progress I had made over years was now all for naught.
It can be hard to reckon with the truth. To see all you’ve built dropped and scattered like the aftermath of a Jenga game.
And yet, this is the situation I found myself in, under the shadow of the virus.
I wasn’t alone.
Many of us have had something ripped from us in this ordeal. Some have lost a way of life or a sense of community. Others have lost loved ones or careers.
Coming to terms with such a loss is challenging enough. But we must also face the prospect of moving forward. Of starting that long climb back, without time and energy on our side.
We must consider all that progress that was stripped from us. Was all that effort worthwhile? Is heartbreak inevitable?
These are tough questions to face. But face them we must.
I don’t have all the answers. Heck, I am struggling with this as much as anyone.
And yet, I am hopeful.
I am hopeful that my will to plow forward will carry me. I am hopeful my desire to build from the ruins will endure. And I am hopeful that chance will be on my side this time.
Maybe hope is enough to sustain us. Maybe not. But I’m counting on it, as much as anyone.
For without hope, all is truly for naught. And that’s a state of mind we can all do without.