I am having one of those days where I am weepy. I am crying over everything. I feel every nerve is exposed. I am trying desperately to find something joyous and uplifting but I feel stifled and inadequate. I feel small. I feel like a failure. How do I go from feeling like I am meant for something more – something great – to feeling like I am nothing, a hack, a wanna-be? I yearn to be like those great writers who pump out stories that have beautiful prose that can strike to the very core of someone’s soul. I want to make an impact. I want to be remembered. I don’t want my existence on this planet to be forgotten the moment my children cease to be.
I don’t need to change the world. I don’t need fame or celebrity. But I crave an existence that will be lasting. I am memorable. I am special and I want more than anything for that to be remembered long after I am gone.
Did Monet know when he painted that people would stand in front of his canvasses 100 years later and weep for their beauty? Did Jane Austen know that almost 200 years after her death that millions of people would still be reading and rereading her novels, celebrating her life? Did Shakespeare? Mozart? Beethoven? I don’t need fame within my lifetime. Honestly I don’t want it. But I do so want just one lasting thing so that my fleeting life, this solitary drop of water in an ocean of time, will have meaning to someone.
Why do I crave this so? For every Mozart there are thousands more who were passionate about music and no one knows their name. Is that what I will become? A forgotten name in an ever growing list of statistics that no one knows or cares about? I keep thinking that in a thousand years no one will know or care what we were, what I was and I will be nothing but stardust so nothing will matter to me. I won’t remember. I won’t be. I may have had hundreds of existences before now and I remember none. So I will not feel the pain of the loss of me.
The trouble with that is I know how special, how precious, this existence is. I feel it in the very depths of my soul. I feel it with a certainty, a profound universal knowledge, which I cannot ignore. It needs to be remembered. For if it is not remembered, did it ever really exist?