Do any of us really matter?

Childhood Dreams and the Desire for Fame

I used to want to be famous. Famous for what? I’m not sure. I can carry a tune but so can a billion other people on the planet. I played the flute for a while and was first chair in my high school band. But that never amounted to much either. I was the free throw champ in 1993, draining more buckets than the average twelve-year-old in southeast Iowa. But my sports dreams ended when I realized that I hated running and wanted to hang out with my friends instead.

I always wished I could take the stage and be the star of some great Shakespearean play. But with a voice as boisterous as a field mouse, and an unfortunate tendency to blush at the drop of a hat whenever I do something ridiculous (which is more often than I’d like to admit), acting in front of large crowds never really seemed to be in the cards.

Discovering Ozzy Osbourne’s Ordinary Man

The YouTube algorithm hit hard the other day when I stumbled across Ordinary Man by Ozzy Osbourne. The video shows Ozzy in an empty theater while clips of his life flash across the big screen. The good, the bad, the ugly. Pictures from his childhood growing up in Birmingham, England, photos from when he first started making a name for himself with Black Sabbath, moments with his children and wife, his solo career, and of course the typical rock star lifestyle of drug-induced and booze-infested chaos.

Reflections on My Own ‘Rock Star’ Life

I started to reflect on my own ‘rock star’ life. Running through the sprinkler outside of my childhood home and playing wiffleball with my brother. I remembered the time I was chased and tackled by a monstrous beast of a dog, ran straight through the BBQ grill where my dad was flipping burgers, and effectively launched our lunch into oblivion—never to be eaten by anything other than the ants forming a single-file buffet line on the concrete below. Did I say monstrous beast? More like an overly excited golden retriever licking away the tears on my face as I screamed bloody murder. Whoops.

Small Acts That Truly Matter

But what if we could all be given this gift? On days when we feel great, but also in those moments when we feel like a busted can of biscuits. Times when we’re living large, and on those ordinary nights we’re not. What if we could just push a button and be shown a reminder of the life we’ve lived, the love we’ve shared, and why we matter?

I used to think that being famous for something made you matter. It was an automatic “in” to a lifetime of achievement and recognition. Heads would turn when you walked into a room because of your captivating charisma and energy, favors-big and small-just fell into your lap like confetti at a parade, and people liked you because deep down somewhere beneath the surface they saw a piece of themselves in you, or a version of who they wished they could be.

I have a childhood friend I’ve known for as long as I can remember. I don’t recall the moment we met or exactly how we became friends. But if you ask her, she’ll tell you the story without hesitation. Apparently, I’d been nice to her in a moment when no one else was. She saw me as a kindred spirit and latched on for life. That mattered.

I was in a leadership position at work, overseeing a handful of employees. I didn’t think I would win ‘Boss of the Year’ by any stretch of my imagination, and one of my employees was a bit of a handful. He was like that annoying little brother that no one wanted to be around, that even your parents didn’t like, but you were forced to hang out with to keep the peace. I gave him strong marks on his annual review because in spite of everything, he showed up every day, was ready to help whenever I needed him to, and never thought twice about backing me up in front of senior leadership. He told me that because of that good review, he got a raise. That mattered too.

My brother died from cancer in 2022, and it broke me. I didn’t rise from it stronger. I just kept moving. I finished my master’s degree because stopping felt like letting the loss take something else away from me. My kids saw that. Others did too. And that still matters.

Why Fame Isn’t the Measure of a Life Well Lived

Unfortunately, none of these experiences made me famous. But if my life ever played across a screen in an empty theater, I think I’d recognize it as a good one despite the heartaches and devastating blows that came my way. And in the grand scheme of things, that should be enough.

Yet, sometimes I still find myself questioning my worth. Whether I truly matter in a world where praise is given to those who demand it the loudest, often drowning out those quietly moving through life. Sometimes it’s easier to believe that if your impact isn’t obvious, then it must not be important.

Now I understand it’s not the fame that brings you power, but rather the life you choose to lead that does.

Finding Peace in Ordinary Stories

I may never be famous. My life will likely never be projected onto a screen for strangers to study and admire. But I’ve learned that being remembered by the people who mattered most and knowing I lived in a way I can stand behind is enough. It has to be.

Because if Ozzy can sit in an empty theater and see his life played back, knowing it was worth it despite everything, then maybe we can all find peace in our own stories, even if no one else is watching.