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.

Online exposure doesn’t bug Lucy, but humans require some privacy
Romantic love is part obsession, part reality — and part madness
One college senior explains financial facts to the Wall Street protesters
My bad teen poetry suggests I’ve always hungered for missing love
When politicians insist the ‘war on drugs’ is working, they’re just following majoritarian incentives
What really caused me to run from a ‘haunted house’ long ago?
Foolish pride often keeps us from having what we need most in life
As world descends into madness, back away and guard your heart
If he cheats at Cracker Barrel, he’ll eventually cheat you, too