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| This is the closest I could come. Well, it's the closest an exhaustive Google Image Search could come. |
I grew up believing with certainty in my eventual Greatness; I'd even chosen - early on - the field of battle upon which I would emerge not just victorious, but unscathed, unchallenged.
Life took over, reality set in. As a twenty-four year old active addict suffering from depression and Sickle Cell, I deserted the field, battle unfought. The coward's path, which could lead only to Mediocrity.
I got stronger; I realized that I didn't have to win an Oscar to be satisfied with my contribution to the world. This other path I've chosen is harder, but fits into reality better. I know I can do unique and meaningful things with my life, things that will last; I no longer fear Mediocrity.
There's a long distance between Mediocrity and Greatness, isn't there? A crowded field that narrows along the journey, until you're picking your way down the gilded narrow path with little company in sight. What I fear is being lost in the field, having my contributions lost in the field, somewhere just north of Mediocrity and way south of Greatness.
I don't need to be Great; I need to be Notable. I need my contributions to have scope and somewhat indelible impact. I need that, not to soothe my inner teenager's pride but to answer The Question: what the hell has all of this suffering been for? What was the point of enduring indescribable emotional and physical torment for the first too many years of my life?
If I can't make the innumerable shit-storms of the past count for something, and count big, it's gonna be awfully difficult to find Meaning in the path I've walked whenever I reach its end.
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