As a speck of microcosmic dust, in the scheme of the universe you are — almost literally — nothing. The universe would not so much as bat its eyelash if the Earth was annihilated tomorrow, and would continue about its routine as if nothing unusual had happened at all, which, strictly speaking, hadn’t.
Literally: it’s unintentional, but I stand with my shoulders hunched forward and my back lazily reclined, which leaves my pelvis protruding. Set this in motion, and my crotch is like a cat’s whiskers, preceding my body and feeling for danger — or pleasure! — ahead.
As you comb through the ruins of our dead civilization, you might be thinking to yourselves, ‘What a bunch of morons,’ or ‘How could a species be this self-destructive?’