So too the decaying body. The aches, the pains—the emotional weight of a life lived “badly”; the attachments and endless wants of a life lived “well”. To age is to be wise to the ways we all suffer; to be wiser still in how to manage it: to run, escape—or just bear the endless pulse of the universe trying to kill us. Yes, that existential angst. We are born into an indifferent world. We thus must find our way and go forth. For it is a never-ending ebb and flow; a forward-facing arrow of endless birth and death.