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.

Why are churches only talking about freedom as it relates to abortion?
I can live without ‘Galt’s Gulch,’ but I need my ‘Akston’s diner’
I don’t really hate you, honest; I’m just afraid you may hurt me
Why do we accept ‘one size fits all’ rules that force us to fight each other?
When times turn too dark in my life, I’m grateful for furry antidepressant
Who are you trying to impress? Answer may explain who you are
Federal checks are destroying incentive to take entry-level jobs