My friend John was on a family trip driving from Denver to Seattle and back, much like we did a few years ago, and met a gang of motorcyclists at a campground. (When I say “gang” I mean a group of fairly nice-looking people all riding motorcycles, not a posse of big mean nasty-looking bearded guys on hogs.) Anyway, John told me he was making chit-chat with them over the campfire about where they were headed, and they admitted they didn’t really know.
“We just shoot the arrow at the barn, and paint the bullseye later.”
That’s deep on several levels. Sometimes I think I go through life the same way.