It was not a significant 24 hours in my life. Much like the rest of my being, it was a dull day. I was not a thrilling person, and I possessed no exceptional qualities. I had never done anything major in my time on Earth, furthermore, I was just a mediocre girl. This often troubled me, and night after night, it kept me up. While I slept, I would reflect on how tedious my life was, and I would brood on how much I loathed it. I would wonder why I had no special aptitudes or powerful purpose. Anyway, I was driving home from work, and it was a dreary, overcast time. The sun was groggy and inky clouds filled the sky. Because the temperature was below freezing, the rain started to freeze on the road. Despite the inimical weather conditions, I drove as I typically would. I had chocolate milk in one hand and the wheel in the other. Half of my brain was tuned to the blaring music, and the other half was thinking about dinner. I will never know what precisely caused me to veer off the road, but I somehow finished with my car upended. I thought death would be expeditious, instead, it was unrushed and leisurely. Three memories from my younger years darted through my brain, and they revealed a truth to me, that I had never known. 

The first one, was a memory of me when I was about 16 years old. I had been strolling home from school, when across the sidewalk, in front of me, I perceived a bolting cat. A dwarf-sized girl wearing colossal, red, and square glasses, and a shirt that said “Be Yourself”, stood there weeping. I inquired what was wrong, and she elucidated for me in broken sentences, and a squeaky voice, that her cat had run away. I examined the cat, across the street, sitting dispassionately.  I plainly slinked over and seized the cat. The moment I brought the cat back to the girl, she avowed I was her hero. I didn’t even do anything too astounding, but I guess to the juvenile girl, I had. 

The second memory I had, took place at a diner. It was an early morning, and the diner had just opened. My hair was in a messy bun, and I could barely open my eyes. The early morning sunlight was radiating through the windows, making it possible to perceive every suspended fuzzy. As usual, on an early morning, I was temperamental and irritated. The waiter, seemingly plagued with a similar outlook on mornings, came out from the kitchen stumbling over himself. He had a tray in both hands, and his mouth was slightly agape. He then tripped over one of his super-sized Skechers, and he dumped, into my best friend's hair, a sizable pile of eggs. I swiftly hurtled my friend into the bathroom, frantically washing the yolk out of her locks. I don’t know if it was the early morning or the strain of life in general, but amidst the grapple to get the egg out of her hair, my friend broke down. She began bawling and sobbing uncontrollably, exclaiming in horrid outcries that she was ugly. I, not the greatest friend but a mediocre friend, patted her on the back, and I told her how gorgeous I thought she was. I always wished I would have had something more eloquent and inspirational to say that day, but as I watched the memory from a third-person perspective, I noticed something that I hadn’t before. At which instant, I had turned from my friend to throw away egg drenched paper towels, My friend looked at herself in the mirror, and she tranquilly smiled at her appearance. Maybe my succor genuinely did help her. 

The third and final memory I had was a younger one. I was around 7 years old, and I was at a dance recital. I was apprehensive about my dance routine, and I beseeched my parents to take me home. However, they would not let me submit to my anxiety. I got onto the stage and my song began to play, “Every Rose has its Thorn” by Poison, my love for this song was very esoteric. I glanced nervously at my mom, and she gave me a slight nod of reassurance. I began to dance, and I danced my heart out. At the end of my performance, I stared out at the crowd, and I saw my parents standing and cheering. Immediately coming off the stage, My parents both gave me a rose, and they were so proud. Tears clouded their eyes because I had faced my fears. At that moment, I knew, at least to my parents, I was a notable person. 

Back inside the car, I was steadily fading. However, I was ready. I knew that all the people I impacted in my time would be at my funeral with meaningful eulogies because I was someone worth remembering. I was not an evanescent human existence. All my life, I had been waiting for a purpose or to do something remarkable, like changing the world. Little did I know, to all the people around me, I was already noteworthy. I may not have changed the world, but I changed the people that comprise my world. With my last breath, I knew I was significant.