FRIDAY, 19 DECEMBER 2014
You’re happily building a house for yourself – with playing cards. Someone comes along, observes what you’re doing, and pushes the house over. The cards flutter down to earth. You’re furious. “What the fuck …”
you scream. “How dare you? I was building a house – a home! Does that mean nothing to you? Does it mean nothing to you that I’ve been working on this house for the past several months?!”
“I’ve just done you a favour,” the guy starts explaining. “I understand that you were doing something you attach a lot of value to, but my goodness buddy, your home was built with cards! With playing cards! What do you think would have happened if you and your family had moved in there and a storm broke out?”
You walk away in anger, yelling filthy insults every now and then over your shoulder.
The next day you see the man again. You shake his hand. You say, thank you, I understand now. “I was so focused on my plan,” you continue, “the idea of a home, a house of my own, that I overlooked the reality of what I was doing.”
That very same day you again start from scratch.
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