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.

Chappelle is offensive and crude, but what he’s doing is important
Ban on saggy pants: Why do we require laws against looking foolish?
Heart that truly loves is a servant for another’s happiness and peace
Why do people who say they love each other cause mutual harm?
Love’s closest counterfeit sounds like love but acts like selfish need
Humans are impatient, but changes in Alabama show speed of change
Being rude in public discourse is about lack of civility, not ‘free speech’
Socialists miss simple truth that serving others will create wealth