You emerge from the womb and are pressed into a world so big and so bright that something swells up inside, something that makes you feel simultaneously terrified and overjoyed. As you go from crawling to walking, there are rows and rows of old toys that you have no use for anymore.  Farther on down comes a series of classrooms you have graduated from.

You enter higher education, and yet there is nothing noteworthily new.  So you just drive in silence, past a couple of lecture halls, past the old dorm that is now occupied by fresh young faces, past a bright industrial building where you took that two year internship, past a few more warehouses and a lot of corporate offices. 

Farther east, past the career journey, there is a different part of life.  It is almost suburban, with the beautiful park where you tied the knot and comfortable two-story homes, many of which have the handprints, the toys, the school notes of the children. Continuing onto a narrow backstreet there is still another part of life. It is a landscape of gray-topped buildings, marked with blurred windows, new confusion, and graveyards.  

Turning around again, the paths diverge into the vast unknown. There is a feeling of driving into the fathomless end of the earth.  And then it rises out of nowhere, something indistinct yet something so gargantuan that it is able to fill the massive emptiness  Gazing into the unknown, pondering if it lies in front of you, you wonder what it must be like to move on, for all those who already have and for all those who will, away from the empty world.