Building La Cuna: On Meaning That Accumulates

 

There have been long stretches of the build where nothing feels finished.

A wall stands, but only temporarily. A system works, but not yet reliably.

Plans changed often enough that I stopped trusting the word done. I

kept assuming meaning would arrive later—once the work resolved into

something coherent, clean, complete.

​

Instead, it showed up in smaller ways. In returning to the same task

across multiple days. In learning where to leave something alone

because forcing it would do more harm than good. In recognizing the

difference between work that moves quickly and work that holds.

​

I had spent years trained to value precision and polish—to believe that

getting things right was what made them matter. But out here, perfection

never quite arrives. Materials carry their own histories. Weather alters

outcomes. Even careful decisions age into something slightly different

over time. The land responds not to intention, but to consistency.

​

What changed for me was realizing that meaning wasn’t something the project would eventually deliver. It was already present in the ongoing attention the work required. Staying with the process—through missteps, revisions, and partial successes—created a coherence that didn’t depend on finishing or fixing everything. The work hasn't become meaningful because it is perfected. Meaning is accumulating because the relationship is enduring.