When he was born, he had had the entire world ahead of him.
All the foundation stones were set - rich parents in a safe neighbourhood, no mental or physical illnesses, a happy, unique and memorable childhood that seemed to stretch on,
blessing him with friends both close and far that depended on him, and he on them.
He was a bright kid, a resourceful student and then a successful young man. Everything in his life was both commonplace and extraordinary.
But as he grew older, it seemed like what he loved about life, its spontaneity, its newness and most pressingly its linear, non-cyclical nature, was being gradually eroded.
Gradually being replaced with the tedium of the working week and what came with it - large scale boredom which was remedied with small scale fun.
It seemed like there were only a few ways of enjoying himself and even they seemed mechanical.
Some kind of rhythm had been set in motion the day he landed his first real job, settled down with his final girlfriend and decided what he liked and didn't - his hobbies and interests.
People had given him piecemeal advice when he was younger, commonplace platitudes - high school is the best years of your life, university is the best years of your life,
when you're young you live and when you're old you maintain etc. - and at whatever stage of his life he was at, he accepted the relevant sage advice.
But one day, when he was much older, skin wrinkled and eyes dimmed, he realised that the day he became an adult was the day he stopped living for the eternal present,
and began looking toward achievements and milestones.
More to that, he saw this idea of unrelenting progress was everywhere in his life - his personal 'development', stone-cut goals, even the dreams he shared with his friends were mini-pursuits.
Within all the areas of his life, the ultimate goal was for himself to move forwards, whereas free time was secondary, an interlude from the movement toward the nothing finality.