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.

Trust and spontaneous order don’t require heavy hand of the state
How can people who care really help the billions mired in deep poverty?
Ordinary miracles fill our lives, while we still demand wonders
The real crime is how CNN is trying to manipulate what you believe
If president can just ignore laws, what’s the purpose of having laws?
Keep trying: The squirrels are pedaling as hard as they can
We’re celebrating Lucy’s second ‘adoptiversary’ in our furry home