Move to the groove.
Rock on witcha bad self.
Well, knowing it's not in your hands, or, rather, that the hands aren't yours, or, rather, that 'yours' isn't as intuitive as it could be, is no reason to mourn. It's not the same as knowing what will come. You still have a front row seat. The experience gathering and scanning the pleasures and pains that will influence the paths and add stones to the already unprecedented height of our incidental cairn. Twice as poetic as free will. Imperfect mirrors dipping in and out of the light, each generation smoother than the last, for years and more years. Better not throw it away, poopsucka! Rock the ja