I know very well my place in life. I am to breathe air from the trees for approximately seventy to eighty years, perhaps shorter - unlikely longer - and then die. The actions in between may lead to the betterment of others or my surroundings, or they may not. Years after my death my time spent here will have been insignificant to the current events of the world. With time, any conventions will disappear. There is no reason I am alive. There is no purpose I have been given. I can give myself goals, and attempt to define the meaning of my existence, but ultimately that is my own self-actualization at work. In truth, from birth to death, there is no reason for me to live, other than to live. Some call this ultimate freedom. Realization of mortal boundaries. Others call it blasphemy, and condemn me to flames of hell. Yet when one realizes there is neither a reason to live, nor a purpose to life, something occurs. They tend to treasure their time all the more, seeking out to identify parts of themselves that up until that point have been left blank. We are all filling in the blanks of our lives, every day. You can choose to be happy or sad, to laugh or cry. You can choose to shelter yourself and quietly live out your insignificant existence of this world. You can make a difference and be immortalized in high school text books. Yet mere remembrance is not a proper measure for life fulfillment. The only person who has the power to ensure your short time of living is at least somewhat meaningful in even the most minuscule of contexts - is you.