people severely underestimate the impact they make just by existing. there’s this weird idea that in order to matter or be remembered, one has to “do” something. There’s never a specified thing one has to do, but it always has to be paradoxically more than what the person has already accomplished. there’s this notion that if the boxes are not ticked, everything has been for naught. You wasted your time. It wouldn’t matter if you weren’t alive anymore.
but it would matter. you can never know the amount of influence or impact you’ve made on another person, or what it really meant to them. you’ll never know if the smile you made in passing to that stranger on the bus made their day. you’re never going to know who’s going to remember you or tell stories about you, for the smallest reason. you’re never going to really know if something you said to someone changed their life for the better. you can’t fathom how significant incidental things can be.
and the people who love you, love you. there is no requirement of major labor on your part for them to care about you. you don’t have to “prove” yourself – the mark is there. indelible. when people love you – genuinely love you – there’s no need for a constant battle to prove your worthiness to them. you’ve never had to in the first place. presence is enough.
and if for some reason, one day, you went missing, your absence would be noticed. it would matter. because you were a part of something – whether it was big or small – and no one can take that place. no one can be you. you, in the span of the rest of our collective existences, will never happen again.
the most momentous thing you’ve ever done is occur.
ur twenties are weird. i have the priorities of a kindergartener again. i don’t know what in the hell is going on EVER. i like colors. i like soup. i want to take a nap
