The Break Happens Instantly or not at All for the Lucky

The question is whether life is a foray fueled by a fever or a frenzy of purpose or some fused chimera of the two, or, if it is flipped, if life is repair work on the fissure cracked between the hard, leveraged physical authority of your bones and the ownership of one’s own audacity.  On the one hand the assumption is already made that it is the pilot of the small meatship who defines by his style of driving that makes it.  On the other, if he becomes aware at all, it is that he must reclaim some autonomy back from the staid world of mores he is in supplication to.
It’s a break, and it happens the instant they breath air  or not at all for the lucky.