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.

‘Cash for clunkers’ was an even bigger clunker than we first realized
Arrival of better financial days makes me value my painful past
What does it take to hold thug with a badge accountable for murder?
‘Pretense of knowledge’ leads world down a dangerous path
‘Thanks for sharing your process’ is wiser than responding in anger
I support MLK’s original goals, but not what his birthday represents
Drug warrior claims weed killed 37, but you and I can be just as blind