There was a man who ran fast his whole life. He ran past his children and his wife and his meals and his mornings. He was building something. He did not know what. One day his chest tightened and he could not run anymore. He lay in a bed and watched the ceiling and for the first time he was still. And in his stillness he saw everything he had been running past. And he wept. Not because he was dying, but because he had not been living.