The view that met my eyes was that of a skyscraper. Built at the cusp of the era which had ushered in Art Deco, it instead offered a nod by virtue of its Gothic styling to the grandiose title that adorned it. With its peak well above the tree line, it was easily the most evident part of the cultural center of the city from the point at which I was stopping. The building was completed in the 1930s, well before my birth. However, before I came to a stop, the light changed, and I moved ahead. The vehicle facing me passed over my left shoulder, and out of sight. As I entered a curve, the road was empty, and the clearing now instead framed downtown. Part of it, anyway.
Two buildings were then visible. Finally, one afforded a view of the Art Deco style. It had been the tallest building around until shortly before my birth. The peak of the other visible building did nothing to betray the late date of my ride. The landscape likewise offered no cars to date the picture in my mind. Nothing my eyes could see offered any hint that the viewer had, in fact, been born yet.
For so many years, I felt like I was performing humanity as an empty vessel. The tipping point had been reached and passed, though, and I no longer feel like I am faking it. I can't deny that relatively recent events and life circumstances hurt. At least, though, I no longer can conclude the world would be better off without me, even in moments where I'm unsure I'd even be missed.