The Short Life of a Cicada (& Me)

If I ever write a novel, I want it to be of this same title. Apparently, a cicada lives for one summer and 7 years buried underground. That is a long time. In that one crucial summer, the cicada lives by hanging on to apartment windows and crying out for everyone to hear. While their difficult life does stir pity, it's hard to feel bad for them when they're constantly crying out (very loudly, I might add) at odd hours of the day and night. They accomplish very little and the cycle starts all over again.

Lately I haven't been able to fall asleep (not due to the cicada, don't worry). I've mostly been thinking into the wee hours of night until I finally fall asleep. Humans on average live more than 60 years, some even to a 100 years. That's much longer than a cicada's lifespan. However, when we die, how many of us are remembered? In death, we are no different from a cicada even though the opportunity that we have is incomparable.

I want to accomplish something, I'm not sure what yet. I don't really care for fame or riches (just enough to occasionally splurge on Kate Spade and TopShop), but to be remembered positively for something that I did. Even now, I really hope that some people in this world were uplifted or happier because of me. 

Let's change the world together. Let's take advantage of the fact that we've been born humans and not cicadas. How sad would it be to the end life the very same way as a cicada with people simply grumbling about the ruckus they caused.