What will matter?

Ready or not, some day it will all come to an end. There will be no more sunrises, no days, no hours or minutes. All the things you collected, whether treasured or forgotten, will pass to someone else.

Your wealth, fame and temporal power will shrivel to irrelevance. It will not matter what you owned or what you were owed.

Your grudges, resentments, frustrations, and jealousies will finally disappear.
So, too, your hopes, ambitions, plans, and to-do lists will all expire. The wins and losses that once seemed so important will fade away.

It won't matter where you came from, or on what side of the tracks you lived.

It won't matter whether you were beautiful or brilliant. Your gender, skin color, ethnicity will be irrelevant.

So what will matter? How will the value of your days be measured?

What will matter is not what you bought, but what you built; not what you got, but what you gave.

What will matter is not your success, but your significance.

What will matter is not what you learned, but what you taught.

What will matter is every act of integrity, compassion, courage and sacrifice that enriched, empowered or encouraged others to emulate your example.

What will matter is not your competence, but your character.

What will matter is not how many people you knew, but how many will feel a lasting loss when you're gone.

What will matter is not your memories, but the memories of those who loved you.

What will matter is how long you will be remembered, by whom and for what.

Living a life that matters doesn't happen by accident.

It's not a matter of circumstance but of choice.

Choose to live a life that matters.

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If I were any better

Jerry was the kind of guy you love to hate. He was always in a good mood and always had something positive to say. When someone would ask him how he was doing, he would reply, "If I were any better, I would be twins!"
　　He was a unique manager because he had several waiters who had followed him around from restaurant to restaurant. The reason the waiters followed Jerry was because of his attitude. He was a natural motivator. If an employee was having a bad day, Jerry was there telling the employee how to look on the positive side of the situation.

　　Seeing this style really made me curious, so one day I went up to Jerry and asked him, "I don"t get it! You can"t be a positive person all of the time. How do you do it?"

　　Jerry replied, "Each morning I wake up and say to myself, "Jerry, you have two choices today. You can choose to be in a good mood or you can choose to be in a bad mood." I choose to be in a good mood. Each time something bad happens, I can choose to be a victim or I can choose to learn from it. I choose to learn from it. Every time someone comes to me complaining, I can choose to accept their complaining or I can point out the positive side of life. I choose the positive side of life."

　　"Yeah, right, it"s not that easy," I protested.

　　"Yes, it is," Jerry said. "Life is all about choices. When you cut away all the junk, every situation is a choice. You choose how you react to situations. You choose how people will affect your mood. You choose to be in a good mood or bad mood. The bottom line: It"s your choice how you live life."

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"Packaging" A Person

　　A person, like a commodity, needs packaging. But going too far is absolutely undesirable. A little exaggeration, however, does no harm when it shows the person's unique qualities to their advantage. To display personal charm in a casual and natural way, it is important for one to have a clear knowledge of oneself. A master packager knows how to integrate art and nature without any traces of embellishment, so that the person so packaged is no commodity but a human being, lively and lovely.



A young person, especially a female, radiant with beauty and full of life, has all the favor granted by God. Any attempt to make up would be self-defeating. Youth, however, comes and goes in a moment of doze. Packaging for the middle-aged is primarily to conceal the furrows ploughed by time. If you still enjoy life's exuberance enough to retain self-confidence and pursue pioneering work, you are unique in your natural qualities, and your charm and grace will remain. Elderly people are beautiful if their river of life has been, through plains, mountains and jungles, running its course as it should. You have really lived your life which now arrives at a complacent stage of serenity indifferent to fame or wealth. There is no need to resort to hair-dyeing-the snow-capped mountain is itself a beautiful scene of fairyland. Let your looks change from young to old synchronizing with the natural ageing process so as to keep in harmony with nature, for harmony itself is beauty, while the other way round will only end in unpleasantness. To be in the elder's company is like reading a thick book of de luxe edition that fascinates one so much as to be reluctant to part with.

As long as one finds where one stands, one knows how to package oneself, just as a commodity establishes its brand by the right packaging.

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Is Fire Goddess Spelled with Two “D”s ?

When I was eight years old, I saw a movie about a mysterious island that had an erupting 1)volcano and 2)lush jungles filled with wild animals and 3)cannibals. The island was ruled by a beautiful woman called Tondalaya, the Fire Goddess of the Volcano. It was a terrible low budget movie, but to me, it represented the perfect life. Being chased by 4)molten 5)lava, blood thirsty animals and savages was a small price to pay for freedom. I desperately wanted to be the Fire Goddess. I wrote it on my list of things to be when I grow up, and I asked my girlfriend if Fire Goddess was spelled with two “D”s.

Through the years, the school system did its best to mold me into a no nonsense, responsible, respectable citizen, and Tondalaya was forgotten. My parents approved of my suitable marriage and I spent the next 25 years being a good wife, eventually the mother of four, and a very respectable responsible member of society. My life was as 6)bland and boring as a bowl of 7)oatmeal. I knew exactly what to expect in the future. The children would grow up and leave home, my husband and I would grow old together, and we’d baby-sit the grandchildren.

The week I turned 50, my marriage came to a sudden end. My house, furniture and everything I’d owned was auctioned off to pay debts I didn’t even know existed. In a week I had lost my husband, my home and my parents who refused to accept a divorce in the family. I’d lost everything except my four teenage children. I had enough money to rent a cheap apartment while I looked for a job or I could use every penny I had to buy five plane tickets from Missouri to the most remote island in the world, the big island of Hawaii. Everyone said I was crazy to think I could just run off to an island and survive. They predicted I’d come crawling back in a month. Part of me was afraid they were right.

The next day, my four children and I landed on the big island of Hawaii with less than $2,000, knowing no one in the world was going to help us. I rented an unfurnished apartment where we slept on the floor and lived on 8)cereal. I worked three jobs 9)scrubbing floors on my hands and knees, selling 10)macadamia nuts to tourists and gathering coconuts. I worked 18 hours a day and lost 30 pounds because I lived on one meal a day. I had panic attacks that left me curled into a knot on the bathroom floor shaking like a 11)shell-shocked soldier.

One night as I walked alone on the beach, I saw the red orange glow of the lava pouring out of Kilauea Volcano in the distance. I was 12)wading in the Pacific Ocean, watching the world’s most active volcano, and wasting that incredible moment, because I was 13)haunted by the past, exhausted by the present and terrified of the future. I’d almost achieved my childhood dream but hadn’t realized it, because I was focused on my burdens instead of my blessings. It was time to live my imagination not my history. Tondalaya, the Fire Goddess of the Volcano had finally arrived.

The next day, I quit my jobs and invested my last 14)paycheck in art supplies and began doing what I loved. I hadn’t painted a picture in 15 years, because we barely 15)scratched out a living on the farm in Missouri, and there hadn’t been money for the tubes of paint, and canvas and frames. I wondered if I could still paint or if I had forgotten how. My hands trembled the first time I picked up a brush. But before an hour had passed, I was lost in the colors spreading across the canvas in front of me. I painted pictures of old sailing ships and as soon as I started believing in myself, other people started believing in me, too. The first painting sold for $1,500 before I even had time to frame it.

The past six years have been filled with adventures. My children and I have gone swimming with 16)dolphins, watched 17)whales and hiked around the 18)crater rim of the volcano. We wake up every morning with the ocean in front of us and the volcano behind us. The dream I had more than 40 years ago is now reality. I live on an island with a continuously erupting volcano. The only animals in the jungle are wild 19)boars and 20)mongooses and there aren’t any cannibals. But often in the evening, I can hear the drums from native dancers on the beach.

I’m free for the first time in my life. I am Tondalaya, the Fire Goddess of the Volcano, spelled with two “D”s and I’m living happily ever after.

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Being Happy after Losing Money

Five years ago, when I had a nine-to-five job, I commuted to work — two to three hours to the office, four to five hours home. I did that every day for three full years. I’ve got the stubs from the bus companies to prove it.I no longer schlep1 to an office like a regularworking Sally, and these days I rarely take the bus anywhere. Although those long, grueling2 hours of traveling are far behind me, I still carry with me the priceless gift of one complete stranger.It was a warm March evening, and I’d just taken a seat on the bus that would take me home. I sat in the third row, by the window, on the driver’s side. It was nearly 6:00 PM, but the bus was not yet full and the driver gave no indication3 that he intended to get the bus on the road anytime soon.A middle-aged woman took a seat opposite me. She was crying. Not speaking to anyone in particular, she tearfully narrated4 her story.She had come to the city to visit her daughter. On the way to the terminal, a thief had snatched5 one of her hags. It had contained half of the money she’d brought with her. The other half was rolled in a hankie and hidden under her blouse, so she fortunately still had some money left.The bus conductor, driver, and other passengers listened to her tale. After a few minutes, she stopped crying, removed some cheese bread from her bag, and began to eat, worry still knitting her brow.An old man in tattered6 clothes got on the bus. He sat in the seat directly in front of the woman.After a few minutes, all seats were taken. The driver got behind the wheel and started the engine. The bus conductor collected tickets and began asking us where we were getting off. When he came to the old man’s seat, he became suspicious and asked the old man whether he had any money. The old man admitted that he did not. He explained that he had spent all his money this morning when he’d accidentally got on the wrong bus and now he was trying to go home.Upon hearing this, the bus conductor ordered the old man to get off the bus. The old man didn’t budge. He was almost in tears as he begged the bus conductor to let him take that bus so he could get home before dark. The bus driver, who had been listening to exchange, stood up, approached the old man, and repeated the conductor’s command to get off the bus.The woman seated behind the old man was also listening and observing the incident. When the bus driver and conductor raised their voices at the old man, she interfered. “Stop harassing7 him! Can’t you see he’s only trying to get home?”“He doesn’t have any money! ” the driver shouted.“Well, that’s no reason to throw him off the bus,” she insisted.Then she said, “How much is his fare?”The bus conductor mumbled8 the amount.“Fine,” said the woman. She reached inside her blouse, took out her remaining money, and handed the fares to the bus conductor. “Here’s his fare and mine. Just stop giving him a hard time.”All eyes turned to the woman, who, just minutes before, had been crying over the money she’d lost.“It’s only money,” she shrugged.By the time the bus rolled out of the terminal, she had given the old man bread and a dollar. She rode the rest of the way home wearing a Mona Lisa smile of peace and grace, and the money she’d lost earlier was forgotten.On the road of life, the chivalry9 and smiles of strangers can lighten our loads and lift our spirits. How much sweeter the journey when we make it a little smoother and richer for others!

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