Oh, who cares.

There it is.  Put succinctly.  Who cares?

Who will read any of this.  In my lifetime? After I am dust?

Some alien race, stumbling upon the dirty remains of our solar system in the final hours before the sun goes nova, may find some vestige of these thoughts echoing through the aether, and may receive more pleasure, more advancement, than any human, contemporary or otherwise.

And this is the fate of all men, all women, the entirety of the species for all time.

Only the brightest sparks will ever illuminate even the tiniest corner of existence.  The rest of us – for all our posturing and our petty, grinding effort – the rest of us will be as the dust upon which are laid the foundations of the future.  Our only contribution will be that we, at best, did not overmuch hinder something that resembled progress. That we were not pure agents of entropy.

I suppose I have to take what I can get.  Your mute thanks are noted, and appreciated.