Pedal to the metal. Pedal for the medal. Gunning 1000% RPM to the next finish line. Make it there as fast as you can. Get the attention. Make the 'rents proud. Maybe they'll accept you now. Checkered flag whizzes by. Screech to a halt, swing the car around - and there it is, another finish line in the distance. GO GO GO GO GO GO GO - floor it!
Am I in a parking lot? A country road? The edge of a cliff? My late teens or late 20s? Enjoying myself or hating every moment? Not sure. Might have been other people in the car at some point. Don't care, no time to lose. Gotta make it to the checkered flag.
Why so fast...? Can't you see? A tidal wave is right behind me. A tiger; a missile; an excommunication. Slowing down is annihilation. Always at my back. Gotta be faster than the enemy. One step ahead.
But every now and then an ethereal harpist plucks me out of the frenzy and I might find myself in front of the piano, in the 6th mile of a breezy summer run, in the moment of a genuine connection with a stranger I'll never meet again, on the 7th paragraph of this essay. There's no movement in this field, but I'm electric. I'm everything everywhere all at once, held right here in front of my own consciousness. Oasis. Flow. The ego, the identity, the self-preservation - all can rest. If only for a moment, a glimpse, a split second, life ceases to be about checkmarks, or accomplishments, or perceptions, because I've Arrived.