As far back as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be great. But as soon as I was old enough to understand ego and humility, I felt guilty for wanting to be great.
I was 5 years old when it first consciously occurred to me that I might be important. I’m embarrassed to tell things such as this — because it can sound like childish immaturity — but there was more than that to what it felt like.
I was outside of our home on Holly Hill Drive in Atlanta. I was studying the foundation of the house and trying to figure out how the house was built. Suddenly, it occurred to me out of the blue that there were five people in my family and that I was now 5 years old. Somewhere in my immature little brain, this seemed important.
This coincidence made me feel important. And for the first time in my conscious memory, I was struck by the feeling that I had a responsibility — not to myself and my ego, but to others — to do something meaningful. I had an intense desire to do something important — to be someone important — and to somehow give my life great meaning for the world.

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