A grain of sand on a beach.
A flicker of light upon the sea.
A shadow stretched across a snowy plain. A leaf gently rolling in the breeze. I am
one of many. I am one in seven
billion. I am just a second in a
century. I’m a flower, here today and
gone tomorrow. Do I matter? I’d like
to. But how can just one in seven
billion matter? What am I compared to
the countless that have come before me? To
those that are living now? To those that will come?
There are answers to those
questions. I’ve read them plastered
across motivational posters above adorable kittens and shooting stars. I've heard them on the lips of self-help gurus selling the secret of happiness for the bargain price of $19.95. I've watched them unfold dramatically on after-school specials. And now that I've asked the questions once again, I can’t help but
wonder what cliché will be sacrificed upon the alter of my pretentiousness. What answer will I use to assuage the side
effects of the pill of humility I have swallowed. What answers are left? Just as I am about to throw in the towel, just as I am about to raise my white flag and acknowledge my insignificance, I hear a whisper on the wind. A voice in the wilderness telling me to look around and see. So, I do and it’s beautiful. I am just a second in a century but I am also more than that. I am a son, I am a friend and I am a brother. I am a husband and a father. I am just one in seven billion, but to them I am the one in seven billion.
