Excuse me while I blend in with the scenery

More and more I come across people who want to be "the next big thing"
Name in lights, best sellers on the shelves, videos on MTV, fans desperately searching google for a new picture, men drooling at their heels, women flinging panties at their feet, ect.

Sure, the money would be nice. But even then, would it? I can't imagine how stressful those kinds of lives must actually be. How unhealthy they are.

I'm not sure why I don't join in with that fame seeking frame of thought. I believe we should all shine and succeed in life, but is that really success?

I can't help but wonder what the lives of histories most famous artists, musicians, writers, political minds, and war time heroes were REALLY like. Not just the way history was reported but the way it really was. Did they consciously think about being famous? or did they just do what they loved and were lucky enough to be recognized for it? Where they even really recognized for it while living? Oh sure some of them did. Little snippets of glory here and there for some and more so for others.

Was fame back then like fame is now? Surely not. Seems like anyone can be famous these days. Specifically the trashier you are. Yes, there are non-trashy famous people that do great things for the world, but even some of them went through their trashy phase (Angelina Jolie).

So, I don't understand this drive. This lust for the spot light. But I also understand that no two people are exactly the same, so I would never expect some people to be happy with the same things that I'm happy with.

What makes me happy? This question has been raised to me recently by an un-named source. Apparently some people think I'm not happy or am hard to make happy.

I don't need people to make me happy. I make me happy. I find joy in other people but don't expect them to do things for the explicit reason of my happiness.

I find joy in impressing my mother. I may never have my book published, and I don't really care if I ever do, but my mom loves what I've written and that is a far greater award for me than if I were a New York Times best seller for 92 weeks in a row. I know my mother, there is no greater book critic I'm sure. But she likes what I write. And she isn't the mom that just gives praise simply because I'm her child.

I find joy in simply sitting with my children. Just their existence is joy. I worry for them, I work for them, I live for them. And that is as much as I could ever want. The love that they have brought into my world is beyond words, beyond feeling almost, certainly beyond understanding. A love so strong and so bold that at times I wonder if it won't burn out my soul with its brilliance.
That is enough for me.

I find joy in eating dinner with my aunt and uncle. In making them proud. For there are no two other people in my life that have shown me what hard work, proper planning, and real marriage are.

I find joy in my friends. Though friends do come and go and I no longer invest myself quite as much as I used to, I find enjoyment and peace in their company. I am learning to save myself the pain and frustration that often comes with friendship by keeping things casual. No more "best friends" or only one or two friends that I spend my free time with. I suppose you give up the idea of a sole bosom companion as you get older.

I find joy in life in general. How could I see my friends and family if I'm blinded by the spot light?

Where am I going with this? Just that while it's fine for others to seek that center stage position, I'm more than happy down stage among the throng of extras, for my place and effect in this world may not be wide spread, it has its effect none the less. What care I if I'm remembered by people 500 years from now. My boys know I love them, what greater fame could I ever hope to achieve?