This morning I watched the river move at a walking pace, sauntering within the channel that cuts through town.

The river has been doing some version of this for over 100,000 years.

Long before countries and kings and dictators.  80,000 years ago, the Deschutes River in Bend, Oregon, flowed around Pilot Butte's east side; lava forced the river into its current path a mile to the west of the butte.

The river has no mind for anything; its concern seems to be direction and continuation.

Whatever my worries are today, the river keeps moving all the same.

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Reflecting on these vast timelines, I wonder:‍

First, when you make something and put it into the world, it becomes like the river, an object that moves at its own cadence with its own built-in concerns.

You can make changes, add volume or make damns, but once you're done and leave, it continues.‍

Second, I wonder how often we make the mistake of designing and building as if our creations will last forever. 

I see successful leaders balance what they make for now and how it services their future vision. Even the greatest visionaries are restricted by time.

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