You can decide what you want to do in life, but I suggest doing something that creates.

Something that leaves a tangible thing once you're done. That way even after you're gone,
you will still live on in the things you created.
The answer was within her reach. It was hidden in a box and now that box sat directly in front
of her. She'd spent years searching for it and could hardly believe she'd finally managed to
find it. She turned the key to unlock the box and then gently lifted the top. She held her
breath in anticipation of finally knowing the answer she had spent so much of her time in
search of. As the lid came off she could see that the box was empty.
Patrick didn't want to go. The fact that she was insisting they must go made him want to go
even less. He had no desire to make small talk with strangers he would never again see just to
be polite. But she insisted that Patrick go, and she would soon find out that this would be the
biggest mistake she could make in their relationship.
One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies
saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher
until one’s cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing
implied. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas...
Dave found joy in the daily routine of life. He awoke at the same time, ate the same breakfast
and drove the same commute. He worked at a job that never seemed to change and he got
home at 6 pm sharp every night. It was who he had been for the last ten years and he had no
idea that was all about to change.
It really shouldn't have mattered to Betty. That's what she kept trying to convince herself even
if she knew it mattered to Betty more than practically anything else. Why was she trying to
convince herself otherwise? As she stepped forward to knock on Betty's door, she still didn't
have a convincing answer to this question that she'd been asking herself for more than two
years now.
He was an expert but not in a discipline that anyone could fully appreciate. He knew how to
hold the cone just right so that the soft server ice-cream fell into it at the precise angle to form
a perfect cone each and every time. It had taken years to perfect and he could now do it
without even putting any thought behind it. Nobody seemed to fully understand the beauty of
this accomplishment except for the new worker who watched in amazement.
Devon couldn't figure out the color of her eyes. He initially would have guessed that they
were green, but the more he looked at them he almost wanted to say they were a golden
yellow. Then there were the flashes of red and orange that seemed to be streaked throughout
them. It was almost as if her eyes were made of opal with the sun constantly glinting off of
them and bringing out more color. They were definitely the most unusual pair of eyes he'd
ever seen.
The trees, therefore, must be such old and primitive techniques that they thought nothing of
them, deeming them so inconsequential that even savages like us would know of them and
not be suspicious. At that, they probably didn't have too much time after they detected us
orbiting and intending to land. And if that were true, there could be only one place where
their civilization was hidden.
He sat across from her trying to imagine it was the first time. It wasn't. Had it been a
hundred? It quite possibly could have been. Two hundred? Probably not. His mind wandered
until he caught himself and again tried to imagine it was the first time.