What Survives: A Look at the Everlasting

On a lazy summer afternoon, a young boy in his teens was planting a tree in his front yard with his grandfather. He was forced to do so by his grandfather, though. He had zero interest in gardening. He was trying to dig a hole in the ground to plant the seeds, and it would not be too much to say he was struggling. He just wanted to sit in his room and play video games, but his grandfather asked for help, which he couldn’t deny. He wanted the adrenaline rush from gaming. This mundane job was not exciting enough for him.  

Understanding his frustrations, his grandfather commented, “That burst of adrenaline you get during an intense gaming moment—the final boss fight, the clutch win, the near-miss—is pure thrill. But like any spike of excitement, it fades fast. The rush is real, but it’s fleeting.” Iritated by the comment, he asked, “ Ohh!! Stop it, Grandpa. There is nothing in this world that lasts forever. Is there anything that lasts forever? What do you think lasts forever?” 

Grandfather smiled and commented, “love, grief, hope, feelings, and memories”.   

What stays longer is your first love, the grief of losing someone special, the memory of your struggle and hard work, the feeling of satisfaction after finishing that one job which no one else was able to do, that moment of accomplishment. In a world obsessed with speed, trends, and going viral, creating and experiencing something that lasts feels almost rebellious, as all these things are expensive and come at a cost, which many people are not ready to pay.

We scroll, post, swipe, and forget—living in a loop of the immediate. We forget to create memories. Struck in our 9-5 jobs, which require a quantity of work over quality, we are drowning in work, but we are not satisfied with it. Dating scenes are also similar. In the hope of finding better, we neglect a deep connection and are caught in a loop of short-term relationships. Short videos allure us more than a long, meaningful movie. 

But deep down, many of us still long to make something enduring. Something that won’t disappear in 24 hours, like an Instagram status. Something that won’t feel irrelevant next week.

But what does it actually mean to make something that lasts?

It’s not always about physical permanence. A sculpture can crumble. A book can go out of print. A file can get deleted. What lasts isn’t always the object—it’s the impact. The feeling it leaves behind. The way it changes someone, even subtly.

To make something that lasts means making something with intention. It means resisting shortcuts. Embracing depth over reach. Writing something that won’t just “perform” but will sit with someone years from now, when they least expect it. It means creating for meaning, not momentum. Doing something that changes the course. 

It means caring more about how something feels than how many likes it gets. Sometimes, it means failing quietly and trying again, not for applause but because it matters to you. What lasts often takes time to build and even longer to understand.

The irony? Things that last usually don’t look like they will. They’re humble beginnings. Quiet words. Unseen effort. But they carry truth—and truth, even whispered, echoes longer than a shout.

So, whether you’re writing, designing, building, coding, or simply living with intention, remember this:

You don’t have to make something perfect.

You just have to make something real.

That’s what lasts.