At the age of seven, a little girl was abruptly pulled halfway across the world and set down at the foot of a jungle path. Armed with nothing but the shy flame of a paper lantern, she glanced around doubtfully.  She had nowhere to go but forward.

Hesitantly, she started moving, one foot in front of the other.  Her feet were soft and tender; tiny stones in the dirt perforated her fleshy soles.  Still, she kept walking, not wanting to lose any time.  Get out, she thought, get out of this jungle as fast as you can.  Her feet became swollen, her walk unstable and her lantern dim, but still she trudged on - Get out of the jungle; get out NOW.  Once you're out, there will be no more stones or thorns in your path.

The flame in her hand sputtered, spitting out wax, burned down to a blackened nub of wick.  The sphere of light surrounding her shrunk rapidly, and she feared darkness would swallow her.  She'd be lost.  Naked and bewildered, her feet raw, all she could do was sit down and wait.  But wait for what?

As she sat, contemplating her own helplessness, a soft drizzle of rain began to fall.  With a small, defeated hiss, her lantern went out entirely.  A fear consumed her in that moment that she had never known, and with this fear came a perfect insight: There is no one coming.  If you want to stay here, stay here; you will stay forever.  So she stood up, and began to walk again.  Her feet grew callused; each step, a stride; her relit candle burned with new passion, and she smiled brightly.  The winding jungle path came to an end, and she did not look back; lying ahead was a great plane of the earth, of deserts and prairies and oceans.  Of the many possibilities open for her, the only question remaining was which of the roads she would choose to travel down next.