Somewhere along the path, we might get overcome. The anguish of being becomes unbearable. During such times, we begin to question our place and our purpose. Some suggest that there is none, that we are like automatons, being born, subsisting and then perishing. It is possible they miss one crucial thing about sentience. It is that we are meant to draw upon something bigger than ourselves.
We might err in assuming it is us, that we are meant to be happy and have pleasure. There is no happiness, let alone states like bliss and so forth, but there is the work of journeying. Pain drives home the realization that our time is limited, our resources few and our abilities minimal. It creates the ability to focus on what is indelibly important. And when we focus, we begin to see that despite our smallness, we are offered the chance to glimpse the immeasurable. It is this that establishes the point of journeying.