Life is all about thrust.

Think about it - we start off as some sort of primitive pelvic thrust, then we are ejected out into the world, fighting for air and a place in the world. We slowly gather energy and focus and start to crawl, to walk and to run. We elbow our way through life, jostling others aside and jockeying for position. We climb above those beneath us by taking what we can and giving what we must. We measure our performance, our success on that which is owned by those we pursue, and those we leave behind. We hit our stride and begin to accomplish our dreams, our momentum carrying us ever higher, ever further, more success, more things, more richness, more control. We are Gods, and we control our future. Sometimes we cock up, we trip, drop and roll to once more begin to crawl, walk and run, picking up speed until back on track.

Back competing in the race.

Eventually, we start to tire. That which was once effortless and enjoyable now is stressful, onerous, an obligation. And as we tire, we seek not to be run down and shoved aside by those still running with us, around us. Through us. We fight for our place, we fight for our future, we fight for our past. We drift out to the margins to avoid being a hindrance, step aside from the buffetting crowd. We slow to a walk and then to a crawl, quite aware that our race has been run. We have needles and medicines thrust at us, to alleviate that which medicine cannot fix. Eventually, our own inner timespring winds down and runs out of energy and once more we are fighting to breathe, to simply live and for validation of that little place that we hopefully managed to carve out in this world.

And then we are thrust in a box.

Wow.