The only thing we know is that we truly know nothing.
It’s so hard for me to accept that some people just don’t want to help anyone else. My worst fear is to travel through life numb to the feelings and experiences of those around me, arriving at death feeling only vaguely tired, because I only worked for myself. That cocoon of self-absorption isn’t even immoral in most cases, because the person simply don’t think to care about anyone else. I live my life for everyone around me. The people I cherish push red flags into my life’s map: I want to see my grandparent’s farm in South Dakota, the spot my parents first kissed, the house my brothers grew up in. Love leaves a legacy of responsibility, for me to be the best person I can to make the people I care for proud. Selfish happiness can be empowering, and is necessary once in a while, but the happiness of serving others leaves me warm three times as long.
