I often feel like just another leaf, amongst many other leaves found on the branches of trees in a forest.
Whatever I can do, some other people can do better.
I may be able to express myself well enough in words, but not be able to make a living out of it.
But best-selling writers will become very rich have many readers who love their work.
I may be the only person in my neighbourhood who writes the way I do.
But there are countries where writers with original voices are so commonplace.
Similarly, I may be like a falling leaf of autumn, with a specially rich red colour.
But then again there are so many other falling, bright red flowers in the forest and season I inhabit.
Yet I know I will not come again in another lifetime.
There will not be another person exactly like me, once I am gone.
It is the same for you, and you; and you too; and for him, her and each of us.
So I will leave behind something that is identifiable as really me.
What would you like to leave behind of yourself?
And I know that what is distinctly me, are things I naturally do every day.
Like thinking in my own way, based on what I’ve experienced, and come to prefer.
Then I try to communicate what I think, as clearly and generally as I can.
