We are not snowflakes.

We want to be famous. No, seriously. We want to be famous. Actually, we just want to have no problems in our lives. We want to be carefree. We want to be able to travel. We want to be able to do things without anxiety. We want to lose weight. We want to write a book. We want to be flawless. We want to be beautiful without even trying.

And so why do we want to be famous? I guess we wanna be special. We want to stand out. We want people to notice us.

"Being famous," we sometimes conclude, "would be a vehicle for the rest of my desires in life."

We wouldn't have to worry about money. We could eat the healthiest foods and the most delicious meals.

How could we ever be famous? We are not anything special.

"So where does that leave me?"

We don't know. Right now, we are nowhere. We are caught in a barren, nameless land. When we look around, we can see many budding oases, way off, far in the distance. If we walk toward any patch of this voracious green growth, it scatters in different directions, none convenient for a person to follow.

"How can any place be called an oasis if there is no chance of reaching it? How can I Wish in the absence of Hope?"

I don't know. Because right now, I am nowhere. I am a grain of sand buried under billions of others, each one almost exactly alike. Or maybe I am one wisp of grass on endless dunes, just as likely to be devoured by some locust or other invasive bug as I am to die unnoticed in a violent coastal storm. Maybe I am one untended country road, potholes so abundant that it is as if the road is not paved at all. I will never be repaved, because no one takes any notice of my condition because I lead nowhere special. Whatever I am, I am not special. I am just like millions of others.

We are not snowflakes. We are mass produced plastic pieces to a useless product that will probably be recalled soon anyways. We are disposable.

"And don't you want to be able to say otherwise?

Well, you can make it that way."