There’s a tension I keep circling back to:
the need to contribute, to serve — and the need to feel important, to be seen.

Both can look the same from the outside.
Both can produce impressive outcomes.
But the motivation underneath feels completely different.

When you’re working in service, the center of gravity is outside yourself. The question is: What do they need? What can I give?
When you’re working for importance, the center of gravity collapses inward. The question is: What do they think of me? Am I being recognized?

It’s subtle. You can be doing the same act — writing, playing music, leading a team — but one orientation gives energy, the other drains it. Service expands you. Importance shrinks you.

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the lure of importance

The trap is obvious but seductive.
Humans want to be seen. We want our efforts acknowledged. We want our name to matter.

But chasing importance easily tips into chasing approval. And that’s a bottomless well. You can always find someone who doesn’t care, someone unimpressed, someone ready to remind you that you’re not that big of a deal.

The sands of time are undefeated.

I think of Shelley’s Ozymandias:

“Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

All legacies crumble. Even the kings. Even the titans.

So if the aim is importance, it’s already doomed.
But if the aim is service, the meaning doesn’t evaporate in the desert. Service is lived in the moment, in the people it touches.

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service is renewable

There’s a paradox here.
When you act from service, importance often comes as a side effect. People notice, people care, people remember.

But when you chase importance directly, service shrivels. The work gets hollow. You’re performing for applause rather than showing up to give.

And funny enough: the approval you wanted never really satisfies.
Because it wasn’t about contribution. It was about filling a hole.

Service fills you. Importance keeps you thirsty.

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where to stand

So here’s the stance I’m working toward:

• Do the work as service.
• Let importance arrive if it wants, but never make it the aim.
• Hold the Ozymandias perspective in the back pocket — a reminder that all crowns rust, all monuments collapse.

If it all disappears tomorrow, was I working for recognition?
Or was I working for someone else’s good, for the music, for the craft itself?

That’s the measure.
That’s the orientation that doesn’t erode in the sands.