Waiting for Meaning

The tree was bare, but the wait continued. Not for leaves, nor for spring, but for something unnamed—perhaps unnameable.

Beckett understood this. The waiting isn’t for arrival, but for the act of waiting itself to reveal its purpose.

The Paradox

We build systems, write code, create structures—all while knowing they’re temporary scaffolding for thoughts yet unformed.

Is the act of creation the meaning, or merely another form of waiting?