If life is a road, or a series of roads, or a path less taken, still somehow we are conveyed upon it in one direction or another. Sometimes it is by our own feet, and by our own choice, picking the route we wish to travel and following it at our own speed, stopping to take in the sights along the way, or doggedly putting one foot in front of the other in order to get where we are going.
Sometimes, however, we are carried by a larger transport, one which picks us up off our feet and speeds us in a direction unbeknownst to us, and it is at this point that we must decide whether we are going to cower in the back of the equipage and cover our eyes as the scenery rushes past, or whether we are going to stand up, brace ourselves with a firm stance, and grip the reins. It is clear, with The Chariot, that stepping on the brakes is a lost cause; we can, though, hope to direct our course.
The only way is forward. The only way is through.