From the moment you utter your first sentence, people want to know what you’re going to do with your life. You grow up doing your best to carve a respectable path and make those who raised you proud. Year after year, you carefully construct your life. And then, one day, you feel a prickle tingling up the base of your neck. Just as success begins to reward you with the faintest salute, a thought wiggles its way into your brain: What legacy will you leave?
Why is the possibility of being forgotten such a deep-seated fear that it is an actual phobia (Athazagoraphobia)?
Marry me MISS ME
Like a drug — the need for continuous acknowledgment lures us into worlds we may not even wish to inhabit — because no one wants to be that overlooked person who causes others to scratch their heads and exclaim (with eyes glazing over), “I don’t think I recall him/her…”
So what will it be? A grandiose discovery or invention? A prosperous corporation? Champion of some life-altering cause? A fascinating work of art? A popular compilation of songs or books? Honorable service to your country?
Maybe not. Perhaps you will accomplish something that garners less notoriety but is equally significant. An incredible parent, mentor, teacher, coach, neighbor, preacher, spouse — friend??
I wonder who is more content in the end — the person who swung ruthlessly from ring to brass ring, trampling any obstruction along the way? Or the one, without all the plaques and accolades lining their walls, who served as an upstanding citizen and role model, trustworthy friend (no matter the hour), and tireless caregiver reaching out, time and again, with a reassuring smile to aid the wavering gait of another?