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.

Loss of everything you value can be a new beginning, not the end
A muse is a crutch for an artist, but some need a crutch to walk
Tribal hatreds around me mean detour on road to personal peace
No matter how ‘defeated’ you are, there’s a way to transform yourself
Father who I saw as Mr. Morality turned out to be a liar and a thief
When does healthy love become nothing but unhealthy obsession?
Relationships he couldn’t mend were tragedy of my father’s death
In Northern Ireland, Obama attacks church schools as source of division