A life of import, of value - giving more to the world than I take. This is what I want. Is this what everyone wants?
I wonder if most wish for a simple life of family and comfort, an enjoyable string of moments with friends and loved ones, only rarely punctuated by the tragic and harsh realities of being a modern being. What do they, "the most", really want?
And what of the others, those who will be known far and wide as having donated a piece of their being to the rest. Is it real, genuine, sincere? Or are the great contributors nothing more than a collection of insecure ego-maniacs desperate to defeat death, their own mortality, by creating an indefatigable legacy? Was Ghandi unsure of himself, lacking the paternal love and affection he needed? Am I a great contributor to-be, or merely a delusional everyman bearing dreams of greater weight than my motivation and talent can carry?
The seeking of fortune is hardly unique; it is the hunger for prestige which eats my brain.
Rant inspired by this recent post.