The Person With The Most Toys Wins Or Leaving Footprints In The Snow

RIP Steve Jobs                                                                                                      February 24, 1955 – October 5, 2011

When it’s all said and done, how are you going to measure what you put in/got out of life? I will have left documentation pertaining to my efforts with a given epitaph that I gave it my best- sincerely. Knowing this, gives me a great deal of humble satisfaction.

For me, the person with the most toys wins, is getting a little old. I have seen too much misery and angst driving around in BMWs.

Self-assessment of MY accomplishments, when I think about it, is relative to the happiness and peace of mind I acquired as I matured physically and mentally; along with actually achieving what I set out to do in the first place with as little collateral damage as possible.

Quite simply, I just wanted to create; my family, art form and mentoring have been my priorities. I value my friendships both social and professional and, when I add good health to the mix, I feel that about sums it up for me.

I have done, and plan to keep on doing exactly what I set out to do all those years ago, until I can’t. I consider myself very fortunate.


3 thoughts on “The Person With The Most Toys Wins Or Leaving Footprints In The Snow

  1. Reblogged this on Arnold Faber "Vibeman's" Blog and commented:

    As recital season approaches, I can’t help but reflect…

    Teaching, for me, goes way beyond relaying a technical approach; whether adults or kids are on the receiving end, I try to instill a pride and confidence in going after such a personal endeavor. I sincerely hope they will relate my guidance into other areas of their life…

  2. Well put. As a kid, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do for a living, but I was certain that spending 40 hours a week doing something I didn’t enjoy in order to fund my evenings and weekends was a terrible idea.

    “Misery and angst driving around in BMWs” immediately reminded me of an anecdote in Tim Ferris’s book The Four Hour Workweek:
    His friends, drunk to the point of speaking in tongues, were asleep. It
    was just the two of us now in first-class. He extended his hand to
    introduce himself, and an enormous—Looney Tunes enormous—diamond
    ring appeared from the ether as his fingers crossed under my reading light.

    Mark was a legitimate magnate. He had, at different times, run
    practically all the gas stations, convenience stores, and gambling in South
    Carolina. He confessed with a half smile that, in an average trip to Sin City,
    he and his fellow weekend warriors might lose an average of $500,000 to
    $1,000,000—each. Nice.

    He sat up in his seat as the conversation drifted to my travels, but I was
    more interested in his astounding record of printing money.

    “So, of all your businesses, which did you like the most?”

    The answer took less than a second of thought. “None of them.”

    He explained that he had spent more than 30 years with people he
    didn’t like to buy things he didn’t need. Life had become a succession
    of trophy wives—he was on lucky number three—expensive cars,
    and other empty bragging rights. Mark was one of the living dead.

    This is exactly where we don’t want to end up.

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