The other night while playing trivia, Sarah and I were posed with the question, "Name the one person, living or dead, you would most like to meet." I thought of the hundreds of fantastic beings with whom I could carry on a stimulating conversation -- musicians, artists, actors, there were so many it seemed impossible to name just one. As I pondered the myriad of greats, past and present, I began to question the validity of my own life. Sure, I have done a few note-worthy things like sell more plasma than one ought to in a single month just to purchase a DVD, plus I've memorized every line from the classic Wynona Ryder flick, Heathers, but are these the types of things that are going to make future generations wish to dine with me? The common thread linking Mozart, Monet and Marilyn Monroe is the fact that they all left indelible impressions the world over; somehow I don't think my impressive DVD collection or amazing credit card debt are going to write me into the annals of history. So what is the average man's legacy? When we get to the end of life, and all is said and done. . . how do we prove our lives were worth it?
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