Mediocrity is the natural state of ordinary men because they have an ambiguous relationship to what they perceive as a life without an end. The thought of their own eventual and inevitable death is considered too morbid a subject to dwell on. It is the only stone that is left happily unturned because the very notion appears to have an irrelevant and even negative influence on his mood and welfare. Nothing could be less true. This lack of a sense of urgency manifests as a constant emotional and physical lethargy in the face of a life that does not contemplate its own demise. When a man thinks upon the fact that he only has a very limited number of breaths, heart beats, steps, thoughts, emotions, and so on, only then does he acquire this kindle of fire. When he is aware of his own finite time on earth, and the finite time everyone else around him has, only then does he understand how petty many of the things he concerns himself with are. The tinder of urgency to be and do more — to push himself while the inner and outer circumstances are still favourable — has a chance to usurp his usual mindset and become the centre of gravity from which everything he is revolves.