Episode
How I Found My Broken Hallelujah pt. 3 of 4
- Podcast
- The Nuance Diaries
- Published
- Mar 22, 2026
- Duration seconds
- 416
- Processing state
not_requested
Actions
POST https://stenobird.com/v1/public/podcasts/the-nuance-diaries-7119430/episodes/how-i-found-my-broken-hallelujah-pt-3-of-4/transcription-requests
Idempotently request low-priority transcript generation for this episode.GET https://stenobird.com/podcast/the-nuance-diaries-7119430/how-i-found-my-broken-hallelujah-pt-3-of-4.md
Read the agent-friendly Markdown representation of this episode resource.
Summary
Have you listened to Part 1 and Part 2 yet? If not, start there! Broken things have long been romanticized in humanity’s search for renewal and redemption. The Japanese art of kintsugi is probably my favorite example. ""KINSUGI" literary means gold (金 KIN) stitching (つぎ TSUGI) in Japanese. It is a Japanese art form of mending broken porcelain with lacquer (URUSHI), dusted with gold, or silver. The broken object gets revived with gold patches. The broken part is truly accepted and cherished as a history of the object, a form of art, rather than getting disguised with immaculate repairing. With Kintsugi, the broken object gets transformed into a unique piece of art. It becomes more beautiful and more attractive than ever." - Azumi Uchitani Yet broken glass is also sharp. There are big shards that are easier to avoid getting scraped by. And there are also tiny little pieces that remain long after you’ve swept up a broken measuring cup or wine glass. You won’t realize the tiny little shards are there until you step on one a few days later, just when you thought the floor beneath you was clean and clear. Broken things can be beautiful. Perhaps the sharpness and messiness are part of that beauty. But first, there’s shock and blood. The pressing of a towel or paper towel or whatever is nearest, against your gaping new wound. The band-aid is tasked with keeping your flesh together as it heals. I’ve only had stitches once, and the scar is gone. I think the actual experience of riding to the hospital with a wad of paper towels against my hand was scarier than the ordeal of getting the stitches themselves. At least when I got the stitches, I knew that I was being mended. I was literally on my way to healing. And that’s where I found myself at the end of my panic attack, broken mu…