Where to? What for? Does it matter? Not much.
The chase is what matters. Every living creature is at one end or another of the chase. Some run for their lives. Others run to catch them. Those not eaten are joyfully relieved to be alive. Those about to dine are joyfully eager to eat their fill. Those who run like dogs for no good reason at all are joyfully rewarded by the simple animal fulfillment of the chase.
Exhausted panting follows the joy. No matter.
The pumping pleasure of the chase excites purpose for both chaser and chased. Purpose reveals being. The rabbit may think,” I am a swift runner, no wolf can catch me”. The wolf may think, “I am a relentless pursuer, no rabbit can escape me”.
In either case the chase fulfills identity.
Wild animals run to live. Domestic dogs run for the silly fun of it. Humans run to create themselves. What we chase makes us what we are.
Humans chase fame, glory, riches, or any other achievement that might make their lives count to memorable purpose. Just breathing doesn’t seem to be enough. If this human oddness could be explained to animals struggling to stay alive they would laugh in disbelief.
Some singularity in the human soul longs for personal recognition. Every writer, artist, sous-chef, politician, and postman wants to be acknowledged as important. Even the humblest of us wants to be important - to someone - for something.
The chase to be important - to someone - for something, makes the world go ‘round.
The great accomplishments of humankind, as well as the greatest tragedies, have all been driven by this peculiarity in our souls.
We chase, therefore we are.