Fame

Tears had already begun to flow down his cheeks, soaking his bright red shirt, when his mother drew him into her bosom and assured him he was going to be famous. "You're going to be famous, baby. You're going to be famous." The lanky 16-year-old towered over his mother, yet seemed right at home in her embrace.

Nevermind that he couldn't sing, dance, or juggle worth a lick.

Why is fame so important to people? Are people completely unaware of the misery of celebrity? Does anyone know the divorce rate in hollywood? Sure, the money must be nice, but is it really worth the cost of the constant company of paparazzi? Is it worth it to have your every mistake/arrest/charade/baby-dangling blared on the news? And why did his mother - or sister, or aunt, or family friend, whoever she was - feed him the lie that he would be famous and, beyond that, that this was an appropriate and enviable pursuit?

Why do we pursue happiness from things that we all know (thanks to children's books, after-school and hallmark-specials, motivational speakers, and countless other media) don't bring any real happiness? How many times must we be told that money (and fame) won't bring any true happiness? Why do I wake up in the morning wondering what I'm going to do or hear or see or eat, who I'm going to see, how much I'm going to earn, all while I am well aware that there is only One that brings me happiness?

That young man did find his fame. He got on national television, and had the floor in front of Simon Cowell. He's famous now. For a bit. Hope his life is better.

One Love