People would tell stories. Some are true; most are not. It all depends on whose account you’ll hear. But the trend is pretty much predictable: A story is always told of the days before us, the same way people after us would hear of these very days of our time.
Before stepping out today, think of someone in times past, of a long, long time ago, and remember what was said about him. It’s hard work, but try picture him in his day or prime. And ask this: “How did he want to be remembered?”
Your guess is as good as mine.
The world might seem dead to us, asleep while we make our way through to the other side. Don’t be fooled. There’s always a witness, someone who thinks he saw something, the real thing. Chances are that that someone would conjure up things from observing tomorrow’s clues that are absolutely meaningless. He might even be a crafty schemer, but who cares—he’s got a sweet tongue! He’s the one whose words would make tomorrow’s bestseller, partly because of the life you are busy leading now.
Hitler has his story told in every corner of the world. Jesus and his followers are long gone, but today people talk of them and their times. You might think they are the only ones, but there is talk of rejects of society and prominent people, equally, and how sensible or not their ways were. We hear of petty indiscretions that become scandalous affairs. We hear of people like you and me. We hear of almost everything there is: good, bad, awful, awe-inspiring, events that rapture or tame minds overnight.
Someone always has a story. Some are true, others are false; but stories they are, nonetheless.
Do you care how they remember your name, your fame, your game?
Oh, someone would write a story, or give an oral account of somebody someday. The account could be significant or not, but like those you have heard (even the very silly ones), people would learn from your mistakes, your faults, your follies.
Think about it. It takes just a second for your story to become an eyewitness account, a thriller, comedy, even have songs of accompaniment. Do you care what your story might be? Whatever, you might not even be remembered!
I hope it makes sense to you, what you are reading, because it makes taking the next step all the more interesting, important, crazy or not. Any way you look at it, somebody would read these same lines you are reading, and would take it all as his story. I who wrote it might not even be remembered.
Chances are that he might forget you had it too. Even if he didn’t, he might care less about what you did after reading it. All that matters is what he makes of it, his story. He might also have an eyewitness who might consider telling a story, some story, in times to come, and might not remember him. It always happens, whether you like it or not.
Your next act—your very next act: with just that one, it is possible that is all the world would remember you. Everything else would be forgotten. And your story would become a blot, a good image, something—anything. Your fifteen minutes of something. How do you want it to be remembered?
It’s funny how the cycle of stories never stops.