We tend to think of life as a journey. A path with landmarks and a final destination. We know an ultimate destination for us all is death. Between birth and death is an extraordinary phenomenon we call life. Coordinated biological processes that dance with the environment for some unknown length of time. Time is a path with no destination; a groove in the cosmos pockmarked with lucidity and obscurity. Seemingly well-defined, so long as we can see. Like hitchhiking and entering a vehicle with welcomed unfamiliarity. We ask the driver where they’re going only to be shown a finger pointing at the moon. The only thing to do is get in the vehicle and see where we end up. Along the way, we will age, eat food, meet others, and converse but life’s map is only marked with cardinal directions and topographical information. There are no roads, only guideposts. Beyond the windshield is a blurry vision of fate. We are at the will of the world. Wonder leaves us looking through the glass while thoughts alternate between the self and the divine. We soon find our paths fork and are amazed at the choice to travel beaten paths or trail blaze. Well, we must follow a proven path to find our footing but be eager to explore life’s tributaries. For it is cogitative wanderlust that lets us learn how to dance between structure and chaos.