I recently took up ice sculpting. Last night I made an ice cube.

Hear now, O children of laughter and wisdom, the words of Mitch Hedberg, the jester-philosopher of our age, who declared: “I recently took up ice sculpting. Last night I made an ice cube. This morning I made 12, I was prolific.” At first, the saying stirs only mirth, as though it were but a jest spun for amusement. Yet beneath its lightness lies the weight of truth: that greatness is not always measured in monuments or marvels, but in the courage to begin, in the joy of progress, and in the spirit that can laugh at itself while striving.

For consider the nature of the ice cube. It is no grand statue of a swan or palace of frozen beauty; it is the smallest and simplest of creations. Yet Hedberg, in his playful wisdom, celebrates it as though it were a triumph. Here is the hidden teaching: that every beginning, however humble, is worthy of honor. To craft one cube is to take the first step; to craft twelve the next day is to advance, to multiply, to prove that effort bears fruit. Even the loftiest sculptors of marble or ice once began with strokes that seemed crude and small.

This recalls the story of Michelangelo, who, when asked how he carved David from stone, replied that he merely removed what was not the statue. To the unskilled eye, the first hammer strike upon the marble was nothing but noise and dust. Yet each strike, humble as it seemed, was the birth of eternity. So too with Hedberg’s jest: the ice cube, humble and absurd, is the seed of artistry, and the heart that dares to laugh at its smallness holds the secret of greatness.

But there is also in his words the virtue of humility. Many men, when they begin anew, despise their own small progress and abandon the path, ashamed that their work is not yet mighty. Hedberg teaches us another way: to laugh, to delight in small victories, to call oneself prolific even when the creation seems trivial. For it is not mockery but resilience to rejoice in the little steps; the one who can honor small beginnings will not falter before great challenges.

Yet there is more still: the metaphor of ice itself. Ice melts. It is fleeting, impermanent, destined to vanish. And yet, Hedberg takes joy in shaping it. Here lies the ancient wisdom of impermanence: that life is but vapor, moments pass swiftly, and nothing endures forever. Still, we create, we laugh, we shape the temporary into beauty. This is the path of the wise: not to cling to permanence, but to embrace the joy of the fleeting. To sculpt ice is to embrace life itself—fragile, brief, yet radiant with possibility.

So let the lesson be clear, O listeners of tomorrow: do not scorn small beginnings, nor despise fleeting works. Celebrate progress, however minor, and do not wait for the grand moment to honor your efforts. Each cube you carve, each small step you take, is a sign of growth. Laugh as you labor, rejoice in impermanence, and find glory not only in the monumental, but in the simple and the playful.

Practical wisdom follows: if you begin a new craft, delight first in the smallest of creations. If you fail, let laughter be your companion, for laughter lightens the burden and clears the path forward. In your days, seek progress, not perfection; joy, not judgment; presence, not permanence. For as Hedberg reminds us, even an ice cube may be the foundation of a legacy, if it is made with spirit and with joy.

Thus let this teaching be passed down: life is too short to wait for the perfect moment or the perfect masterpiece. Begin now, create something small, multiply your efforts, laugh at yourself, and be prolific in spirit. For in this lies the secret of both art and life: not in the grandeur of the work, but in the joy of the making.