Have you ever looked outside a window of a tall building and saw the chaos taking a familiar form? Like the guy looking at his watch knowing he has time to have a cup of coffee before work, the car next to him facing you, because the driver was too tired to park in reverse, the traffic lights flickering every so often on a buzzy road.
Everything seemingly having its place, everything being there for a reason and the past unravelling the present. The beauty of life at your sight painted by and endless stream of brushes moving in perfect order. It's moments such as those in which I feel like the meaning of life is simply to go on, that the melody of life, is a song of history.
Why would anyone then pick a moment and say "this is when it started"? If it truly did begin just like that I would be disappointed. I would rather it being an endless dusty trail waiting to be uncovered.