When I die, nobody is going to care what I did with my life.
They’re not going to care about the achievements I was once so proud of. They’re not going to remember the talent that once impressed me so much about myself. Nobody is going to know or care what my IQ was.
The only thing people will remember about me — if they remember anything at all — is how I’ve made them feel. The only way I’m going to matter to others is if I’ve somehow shown genuine love to them or helped them find meaning in their own lives.
I’ve recently realized that I’ve had it all wrong for a long time. I’ve been letting my ego get in the way of being the person I need to be. I understand how that happened — and I’ll tell you about that in a minute — but the bottom line is that I’ve been chasing the wrong things.
I’ve wanted to be a star. I’ve wanted to be important. I craved the feeling of mattering to others, so I’ve unconsciously pursued a kind of success that would matter only to the wounded heart of my hidden inner child.

There are lessons for our lives in the joy and innocence of children
Obama’s bad advice shows why politicians don’t ‘get’ bureaucracy
Pursuing transcendent meaning is rebellion against modern culture
I’ll make fun of your Super Bowl, but you can’t make fun of my Spock ears
You can change your story, but you first must throw away the old ones
Listen as Aya Katz interviews me live about my close furry friends
Deputies too busy to work accidents, but have time to raid bingo halls
If we keep waiting for perfection, we’ll always keep traveling alone
Your words of kindness can show love to strangers struggling in life