Firsts happen now. You know them the moment they happen. You run to them. They are cherished from creation and shared with wonder. “The first time…” starts a story even at the end.
Lasts happen then. They pass unnoticed until revealed in sharp realisation. They creep up on you. They are mourned alone, held tight with nostalgia; with loss. “The last time…” ends a story even at the start.
It’s their nature and our finite nature means each implies the other. Our first step has a last step. Our first love has a last love. Our first line of code has a last line of code. Getting caught up in either can be hard. A heady rush of firsts or a crushing blow of lasts - both can be detrimental.
It’s good to remember that most of life is the bits in the middle. Perhaps not awash in wonder but also not drowning in a sea of regret. Its own peaks and valleys which are enjoyable without worrying about the destination.