Overboard

When I was younger, I fell into the trap of thinking I could earn the love of other people by being “special.” I thought that by reaching some imaginary bar of human achievement, I would be set apart from other people and become uniquely worthy of love. It goes without saying that I never reached that bar.

Looking back on my life, the only achievement that has really mattered is encountering people who cherish me for all that I am, achievements or none. People who care for me not on the basis of what I’ve done but who I am. Aristotle and Cicero say that relationships like these are the rarest things in the world. I’ve only found a few people like this.

Deep down I suspect that I’ll never be exceptional—I’ll never be above other people. My life is a small ripple in eternity—one that will soon fade out into nothing. I’m not particularly smart or talented, and I’ll never amount to anything significant. Part of me hates the thought of that. But what is there to hate if I already have everything I could ask for? What more could I desire?