Perhaps because I have never really felt admirable or assured in my own sense of worth, I wonder in what way I might like to feel admirable after my death. What benchmark of man or woman might I like to be held in the same breath with or by what yardstick raised up?
It is a queer question.
Not by pyramids or parenting or fear or greed or beauty or intellect, I think. Nor even spiritual conviction, though I have dipped my toe in that pond. If I might choose people I admired and would not especially mind being corralled with, Marcus Aurelius or George Orwell or my one-time shrink Jack Gallahue come to mind as admirable men whose passions seemed to address the facts on the ground, but hitching my star to theirs seems a bit childish and perhaps wildly inaccurate.
I guess I would hope not to have done too much harm, but beyond that I cannot think of the flash of individualized lightning by which I might retrospectively have caused others to go "ooooh!" and bestow laurels.
I never invented a light bulb, never scaled a notable precipice, never amassed much wealth, never touched base with the elusive "fifteen minutes of fame." By this, I reckon myself as a blob of cookie dough, but it seems reasonable to ask what flavor it was.
I guess I can be grateful that I was never Kim Kardashian or some other air head, but my own air-head-dom is probably not all that different ... though I have my fingers crossed.
Are others more at ease with this "admiration" business -- even the ones bound and determined to show how adult and at ease they are? I really don't know.
Strange to think that everyone might like to be "admirable" in one way or another and yet ... well ... what is admirable?
He's dead by gaw, but while he was alive, no beer within his grasp went to waste. Silly and inexact? Silly and or inexact bits of a life are what history will remember. But those of us who escape the public memory will be blessedly forgotten within a few generations at worst.
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