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.

Little girl’s happy ending reminds us not to be defined by tragedy
Without real human connection, we’re just living in a simulation
Life has a brutal habit of forcing us to confront our own hypocrisy
What demons cause us to abandon one who offers what we need?
With each ‘improvement,’ we’re losing family and community
Trump’s rabid defenders selling their souls for a narcissistic liar
The Fourth Amendment? Hmmmm. No, we’ve never heard of that one