There was a rock picked up from shore. Two to three fistfuls in size, brownish, irregular pyramid, of grit typical of sea stones. It was nothing special.
But then because it was around, there were times when it proved useful. It had its duty as paper weight. It’s now used as a doorstop. Those two things. Some traces of candle wax, so that, too. Still nothing special.
Sure there were times when it was nothing more than what it is, a piece of rock, collecting dust, somewhere. It disappeared for a long while once, unnoticed. And then on some cleaning day, it showed up, surprising everyone.
Toy Story was the first full-length film Pixar made. They were selling rendering software. The movie was to demo the ability to build worlds using only computers, new at the time.
Value arises from the proximity and interactions of instances of existence. That which has been around for long, has a great probability of being around for much longer. Where there is none to confer value, there is no value.
Someone gave me a pen as a gift once. And then I lost the pen. So I bought the exact same copy. Erasing the fact that it’s not the same pen was impossible.
No other piece of rock like the one I picked up as a kid exists. And yet it’s still just a piece of rock. Enough for today.