We spend most of our life in the Unknown, I think.

That’s what life is, really.
It’s discovery.

It’s your first flight on your own. It’s window seats and salted peanuts, looking out at the clouds.
It’s a train station filled with strangers. Some of them are going the same direction as you and you’ll sit with them for a while. Some of them you just pass in the tunnel, or on the platform.

It’s climbing a mountain with a friend, just to say you did.
It’s that nervousness of your first time going downtown by yourself.

It’s moving away for the first time, starting over.
It’s coming home again, starting over.

It’s seeing how much you can learn overnight.
It’s learning that there’s much that you don’t know.

It’s falling in love for the first time. And the second. And the third.
It’s learning that love is a verb, and that you’re a noun.

It’s finding the limits of who you are.
And then pushing just a little bit farther.

It’s wanting to do everything, but choosing to do one thing.
Or wanting to do anything, but trying to do everything.

Life isn’t what you do.
Or what you know.
Or who you’re with.
Or how you’ve tried.

Life is the sum total of everything you’ve ever known multiplied by the amount of times you’ve failed, divided by the things you didn’t try because someone told you they were impossible.

Life isn’t something you can define.
It’s something you have to experience.