The two paragraphs below are from Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451; it is Montag, remembering his grandfather:

“And when he died, I suddenly realized I wasn't crying for him at all, but for all the things he did. I cried because he would never do them again, he would never carve another piece of wood or help us raise doves and pigeons in the back yard or play the violin the way he did, or tell us jokes the way he did. He was part of us and when he died, all the actions stopped dead and there was no one to do them just the way he did. He was individual. He was an important man. I've never gotten over his death. Often I think, what wonderful carvings never came to birth because he died. How many jokes are missing from the world, and how many homing pigeons untouched by his hands. He shaped the world. He did things to the world. The world was bankrupted of ten million fine actions the night he passed on.”

“My grandfather hoped that some day our cities would open up more and let the green and the land and the wilderness in more, to remind people that we're allotted a little space on earth and that we survive in that wilderness that can take back what it has given, as easily as blowing its breath on us or sending the sea to tell us we are not so big. When we forget how close the wilderness is in the night, my grandpa said, some day it will come in and get us, for we have forgotten how terrible and real it can be. You see? Grandfather's been dead for all these years, but if you lifted my skull, by God, in the convolution of my brain you'd find the big ridges of his thumbprint. He touched me. As I said earlier , he was a sculptor. ‘I hate a Roman named Status Quo!' He said to me. ‘Stuff your eyes with wonder,' he said, 'live as if you'd drop dead in ten seconds. See the world. It's more fantastic than any dream made or paid for in factories. Ask no guarantees, ask for no security, there never was such an animal. And if there were, it would be related to the great sloth which hangs upside down in a tree all day every day, sleeping it’s life away. To hell with that,' he said, shake the tree and knock the great sloth down on his ass.'”

The paragraphs below are me, remembering my future:

It is true that a person is not gone until they are forgotten; and a person is not forgotten until there is no trace left of things they have done. A person can live forever through their deeds, so I must take advantage of my allotted time and space to do those things that are important.

But what is important? Is it okay to do that for which I will be remembered, for the sake of being remembered? Or is it better to do those things that may grow into discoveries? Those things that may aid others in their efforts toward learning and growth?

To be important is to disavow self-importance. To be important is to do those things that are important; which in turn is to listen. To listen to people; and to listen to the green and the land and the wilderness; and to listen to both the silence and the stridency within the combined shadows of light and dark; and to listen to the vast empty spaces beyond our world; to listen to Life.

The biggest impediment to important is to listen to myself. I must interpret; objectively – like a machine. And I must translate those interpretations into actions, of my choosing. I cannot do those things that are only important for me, because by listening to myself in this manner, I am not listening. I only have potential to be important if I listen.

I should not listen like a machine and I should not act like a machine. But I should be disciplined and rational in my thought; as much as is humanly possible; like a machine.

We are not so big, collectively or individually. We are not so big. We think we are. And this makes us think we are important. We are not listening. We dream big, but like the sloth, we are asleep. I will not be remembered for my sleep. I will be remembered for what I do.

What I do does not seem big. What I do is not big. Even an entire lifetime is not so big. And even an entire generation of lifetimes, relative to all of Humanity past, present and future, is not so big. And even all of Humanity, relative to all of unrecorded History, is not so big.

Big is important; but important does not have to be big. For me, as an individual human in my allotted time and space, big is not possible. If I see me as big, important is not possible. If I see me in context, I may be important, but never to myself. I cannot decide to be important. To be important is a gift from others; a gift I cannot accept without tarnishing it. Big in my context is not possible. Self-importance is not possible.

Listening and acting, within context, is possible; and necessary. I can listen to my dreams, but without interpretation and translation into action, they are worthless. The same for listening to others, and to the wilderness, and to the shadows, and to the vast empty spaces; to Life.

If we do not listen, the world is bankrupt. Each day, billions of fine actions are sacrificed to self-importance. Self-important people think big and act. It is difficult to discount the self from within my self. It is so very difficult to consistently reason and act thoughtfully to avoid self-importance; yet this is exactly what importance demands.

To reason and act thoughtfully. If that is not my future...

…have I failed?