I once looked up to someone so much that I wanted to follow in their footsteps.
I want to do what they are doing, I thought as I began my journey.
They were, in other words, my idol. I idolized them so much that it was like looking through rose-tinted glasses and ignoring all the obvious flaws.
When I idolized them, I made them into someone they weren’t. They weren’t truly humane, just something flawless to be revered.
I would sit in front of the computer with my glasses on, staring thoughtfully at the screen, imitating the person always working away on their laptop.
What had they been doing on there? I had no idea. I had only wanted to do the same.
I want to do what they are doing, I thought. I had no idea what they were doing; I only thought they were doing something important. And if that was the case, it meant they were someone important.
I want to be important, I realized. I wanted my life to have some meaning. I wanted to mean something. Unlike that forgotten packet of biscuits on the back of the shelf, I wanted to be remembered.
But that was not it either. Not really.
All I ever wanted was to be seen.