Remember when there was a point? Remember when there was a purpose?
I used to want to be a hero. A veterinarian, a protector of the frail and the flawed. Then I found there were a million others, diligently protecting the weak in a phalanx of kindness and medicine. I could join them, become another cog in the machine.
But that was not my place.
I used to want to change the world. To fight for the rights of men, of all creeds and colours. To be a humanitarian, a protector of the underdog and the victim. Then I found there were a million others, better organized and already on the march. I could join them, become another cog in the machine.
But that was not my place.
I thought to be an artist, to share with others my dreams and hopes, to paint the world in a new palette that would enlighten and delight. Then I found there were a million others, more brilliant and colourful than the most wild of dreams. I could join them, become another cog in the machine.
No.
I could be a writer, to tell my tale that others might learn -
No, there stand a million others, with the same lessons better taught.
I could be a technician - no, there are men more qualified.
I could be a leader - no.
A singer - no.
A savant - no.
Where do I belong, then? How do I make my mark? What is the purpose? What do I aim for?
I have a million days left, how best do I spend them?