You don't want to be famous

You don’t want to be famous:

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You don’t want to be famous.

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You don’t want the lifestyle of the famous.

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It’s exhausting.

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It’s never-ending.

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It’s illusionary.

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None of it is real.

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It’s temporary.

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It makes you believe in backwards ideas.

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That you’re better than.

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That you’re special.

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That you’re successful

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You’re not.

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It doesn’t make sense.

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How did you - person in their room looking at a blank wall - achieve all of this?

It makes no sense.

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No one listened to you on your own.

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No one understood what you were saying.

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No one listened to your crazy dreams.

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Then all of a sudden they did.

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They got it.

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They knew.

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They saw the genius.

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They saw something they haven’t seen in others.

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Then boom.

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Everything changes.

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You’re not spoken to as a person anymore.

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You’re spoken to as an idea.

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You’re spoken to as an object.

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As something that exists.

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At the behest of those who see opportunity.

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At the behest of those who see dollar signs.

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At the behest of the capitalists.

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They don’t care.

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They don’t care about you.

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They don’t care about your background.

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They don’t care about your story.

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But they see opportunity.

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They see dollar signs.

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They see their own success.

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Then boom.

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Out of nowhere.

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Everything changes.

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One day you’re living your life.

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One day you’re unknown.

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One day you have privacy.

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The next day you don’t.

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Gone.

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In an instant.

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Because of some algorithm pushing your content.

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Some algorithm that attracts people.

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Some algorithm that likes you.

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Just cause.

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No reason.

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No reason why you’re better than anyone else.

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Literally zero reason.

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Millions of people do what you do every day.

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Write music.

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Write poems.

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Write stories.

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Make videos.

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Make podcasts.

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Make blog posts.

Every day.

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Millions.

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And yet.

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They picked you.

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You.

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You’re the golden child.

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You’re the saviour.

You’re the next big thing.

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But are you?

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Are you really?

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No.

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None of us are.

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None of us are prepared.

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None of us are well understood.

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None of us are appreciative of how much life changes.

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But it does.

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Just like that.

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Just like you’re here one moment.

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Then you’re not.

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Talk about life.

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You think you’re so hot.

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You think you’re so sexy.

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You think you’re so valued.

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Then boom.

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Gone.

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Everything.

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All your experiences.

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All your memories.

All your ideas.

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Gone.

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No one cares so do your thing.

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Live your life.

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Live the life you envisioned in your head.

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Live the life you want to be proud of

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Live the life you would live if money didn’t matter.

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It doesn’t.

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Why do you think I write?

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Why do you think I share my thoughts?

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Why do you think I spend all this time?

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It’s for nothing.

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It’s for something.

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It’s for me.

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I need this.

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I need challenges.

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I need success.

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But I don’t.

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I don’t want it.

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I don’t want the attention.

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I don’t want the eyeballs.

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I don’t want the fame.