An Ant Can Have a Hill

I think on some level that this is obvious.  I would begin at once to condemn the idea that was so uniform when I was a kid, that we were all unique and special.  Frankly, in all my years of schooling, I’ve probably met two genuinely brilliant people.  But back then, “self-esteem” was the sort of buzzword that was considered so important to the fostering of a functioning adulthood ethos.  Of course, the damage that attitude has done is obvious even today, but I think that most people still esteem themselves worthy of greatness, just waiting for that special moment when their real life will finally begin.  Of course, do they consider that their current middling, miserable lives could be their real lives, that these are the things that they must either accept or correct to be happy or are they entirely oblivious?  I will genuinely err that people do wonder, people do know, deep down at least in the moments before sleep robs us of our awareness; I have that much faith at least.

Perhaps a year ago I presented this picture with a short caption on Twitter.  Now, I’m not important enough to find offensive, but the response I received was far greater than my minimal importance should have allowed.  None of it was pleasant either.  I have to assume that people still want to believe this.  People want to believe that their real lives just haven’t started yet.

One of the things I learned as I hit adulthood and all my preconceived notions derived from a moronic childhood unraveled, one by one, was my own inconsequence.  In truth, I wasn’t that different from my peers in my outrageously hubristic outlook, but reality struck me harder than most.  It could not be ignored.

To be great is to miss the point.  Even an ant can dominate the hill.  To be great is to miss the point.  To do great is divine.  We ought to be defined not by what we are but what we do and what we have done, and that doesn’t have to pertain altogether or at all to occupation.  I would venture further that who we genuinely are is constructed entirely on the backs of our deeds.  Therefore, if you want to be the star of the boardroom, you have to put in the hours–everything in life is a competition–and you have to make yourself harder and stronger by the things you do than do your peers.

The Days He Lived and Loved and Laughed

Moths frequently appear to circle artificial lights, although the reason for this behavior remains unknown. One hypothesis to explain this behavior is that moths use a technique of celestial navigation called transverse orientation. By maintaining a constant angular relationship to a bright celestial light, such as the moon, they can fly in a straight line. Celestial objects are so far away that, even after travelling great distances, the change in angle between the moth and the light source is negligible; further, the moon will always be in the upper part of the visual field, or on the horizon. When a moth encounters a much closer artificial light and uses it for navigation, the angle changes noticeably after only a short distance, in addition to being often below the horizon. The moth instinctively attempts to correct by turning toward the light, thereby causing airborne moths to come plummeting downward, and resulting in a spiral flight path that gets closer and closer to the light source.