Say we all live to 90 - that's a ripe old age, after all, isn't it? We would have to live 11,111 times over before we had lived through one million years. To go back and witness this grey sandstone being laid at the bottom of the (then) sea, we would have to live our ninety years 4,833,333 times. We are born, we absorb the world around us, we go to school and ostensibly learn even more, we grow through our childhood, through our teens, we struggle against our parents and finally establish ourselves, we go out into the world, we make our mark, we build the skyscrapers of our lives and tear them down and replace them with more, we grow and become wiser, we love and loathe and laugh and cry and we wage our wars, we forget our differences and make our peace, then we forget why we made peace and go back to war, and so on, and so forth. We go through the stages of life as Shakespeare so eloquently put it, we grey, we sag, we yearn for our youth, we navigate the doldrums of middle age, we wrinkle and soon start to fade; then, if we're lucky enough to make it that far, we are old and withered, and as the halcyon days of yore beckon us toward them, we take our leave and return whence we came. All this we do in the blink of an eye. In contemplating the insignificance of the human race, and myself as a specimen thereof, I find my freedom.