The grains beneath our feet

"Time it was, and what a time it was." - Simon & Garfunkel

Yesterday, I went to the beach with a cheap Carson microscope in my pocket. No agenda, no plan. Just a vague sense that there was something worth seeing. I didn't know I'd be spending all of the afternoon hours hunched over grains of sand, marveling at shapes and colors I’d never noticed before.

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A World Hidden in Plain Sight
Sand is a drab, brown blanket. But up close, it’s chaos. Grains are white, black, blue, red, green, pink. A riot of colors that blend into what we casually call “brown.” Each grain is unique, with sharp edges or smooth curves, polished surfaces or jagged angles.

There’s something unsettling about realizing how much detail lies hidden in the everyday. These grains beneath our feet, ignored and brushed aside, are tiny works of art shaped by time and chance.

The human brain doesn't like complexity and entropy. It makes reasonable guesses and shortcuts, optimising for survival. So, the sand looks brown. Nothing to see here.

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Shells of Ghosts
Among the grains, I found something stranger: shells of creatures so small they looked like sci-fi. A quick series of google searches on my phone informed me that they're called foraminifera. Single celled, yet packing enough complexity to be unique. Some of these shells might belong to ancient creatures, their stories stretching back before dinosaurs.

I stared at them, spiraling and intricate, wondering how many footsteps had passed over these tiny fossils without knowing. Some of them might have died just last week, some might have withstood the last ice age. Their presence felt absurd, almost cosmic. Why should something so small and intricate exist, and why should it be beautiful and unique? Yes, that's the universe whispering in your ear about its endless wonder.

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Banal, Endless Wonder
We talk about wonder like it’s rare. Something you have to chase to the edges of the earth, pay boatloads of money for... Maybe you'll find it on Netflix. But there’s wonder even in a handful of sand. Turns out I'd just trained myself not to look.

Why does sand look brown when its grains are rainbow-colored? Why do tiny shells persist for millennia? Why do we ignore the things of inexplicable wonder right in front of us? I have no answers, just a lingering awe for how the world works without us even noticing.

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What it taught me about B2B sales
Next time someone asks me to explain the gap in my career, instead of asking them politely to stuff it, maybe I’ll tell them this story. I’ll tell them I spent hours poring over sand through a microscope, trying to grasp its absurd diversity and failing. I’ll tell them I found tiny shells of ancient creatures and wondered what it means to mark time.

Maybe that’s the point of the gap. To exist, unnoticed, for a while. To look closely at something you never thought to examine. To find wonder in the banal. To heal from forced, unnatural order.