Last Full Day in Provence

Today I am heading for a remote village, Les Baux, in the Provence region.  The planning of these excursions cause me to think of living.  Let me use a drawing that my grandson made for me a few months back to make the point.  The plan was sketched out in several colors on an oversized piece of white paper. This vivid multihued labyrinth was a map to a predetermined finish.  To be triumphant, a player had to take the correct route following hidden secret passageways. 
"How will I know when I find one?" I asked after he excitedly explained the game.
"You'll know because the topsecret passageways get you to the finish," he states with a slight "duh" in his tone.
"But, you've also built in booby traps - as the designer, you have the upperhand; this knowledge makes the odds terrible for me." 
Judging from his expression, I know that he is delighted with this.

Living is like that elaborate drawing, or like the tunnels under the ancient castles I am exploring now.  I enter each passage selecting what I believe is the secret correct path sensing that I am avoiding the booby traps concealed at dead ends.  I want to play the game ... I feel that I have entered the corrrect corridor but I won't know unless I walk through to the other end.