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.

Santa checked his list twice — and some of you’ve been naughty
Let’s try a candid conversation just for the few who want to hear
The Alien Observer:
Plans change and people hurt us, but we often need to start over
If you can’t change your life story, that narrative will become destiny
Without God, my unloving heart can’t truly love unlovable people
Creative process can be very ugly, but I need to share mine with you
Pro-free market candidates don’t promise price targets on gasoline
Fetish for privatizing misses point; it’s having a choice that matters