102. I'm exactly like a prospector, in a really unpromising stream, prospecting for the least glimpse of Heart(s)
Creating the largest company in the country by wealth, Apple, was year-by-year, month by month as much a matter of finding the 1 million right employees as it was anything else. Fortunes were made during the gold rush, some for noble reasons - the child needed an expensive operation, the family refugees in Europe needed funds so that they could come and join their loved ones in the United States; loved ones living in blighted cities and funds needed to bring them to a cleaner better place.
And hour after hour, day after day, realization of those dreams depended upon painstaking, agonizing, second after second, minute after minute, day after day, month after month... sifting through sand for the glint of gold; with few, if ever, moments of success.
If there's to be a future worth living for the next 2000 generations, that dream will happen the same way. This dream looks really bad, really low prospects. The stream of opportunity has been sifted through for the easy stuff, and there is no easy stuff. There are no obvious glimmers of heart. Oh, occasional kindness. 'Fools gold,' not to be derogatory; 'fools gold;' not, not the family emergency response.
But the claim, the stretch of river, of the stream, that the prospector has access to, is what it is. There's the prospect of giving up, but that's giving up on the prospect of the operation for their child. And, if they're human, if they're humane, that's probably not going to happen; they'll just keep on trying.