Tucked away in our sub-consciousness is an idyllic vision. We see ourselves on a long trip that spans the continent.
We are traveling by train. Out the windows, we drink in the passing scene of cars on nearby highways, of children 61 (wave) at a crossing, of cattle grazing on a distant hillside, of smoke pouring from a power plant, of row upon row of corn and wheat, of flatlands and valleys, of mountains and rolling hillsides, of city skylines and village halls.
62 uppermost in our minds is the final destination. On a certain day at a certain hour, we will pull into the station. Bands will be playing and flags waving. 63 we get there, so many wonderful dreams will come true and the pieces of our lives will fit together like a 64 (complete) jigsaw puzzle. How 65 (rest) we pace the aisles, damning the minutes for loitering —— waiting, waiting, waiting for the station.
“When we reach the station, that will be it!” we cry. “When I'm 18.” “When I buy a new 450SL Mercedes Benz!” “When I put the last kid through college.” “When I have 66 (pay) off the mortgage!” “When I get a promotion.” “When I reach the age of retirement, I shall live happily ever after!”
Sooner or later, we must realize there is no station, no one place to arrive at once and for all. The 67 (truth) joy of life is the trip. The station is only a dream. It constantly outdistances us.
It isn't the burdens of today 68 drive men mad. It is the regrets over yesterday and the fear of tomorrow. Regrets and fear are twin 69 who rob us 70 today.