As humans, we want to leave something behind. To make our mark on the world, so to speak. Frustrated teenagers in a small town, spray painting their anger onto bridges and buildings. Anger at their parents, their teachers, their town, all the things that regulate their seemingly meaningless existence. They want to be remembered. Wall Street bigwigs, living in opulent luxury, rolling in dough. Justifying their lives with material comforts. They want to have influence.
The moguls can consume all the products they desire - it won't matter. Their mountains of riches, their "stuff" won't save them from their inevitable, inescapable fate.
The angsty young people can paint all the slogans that satisfy them - it won't change a thing. Their concrete canvas will crumble into the river and annihilate their sentiments.
It is in our nature, I suppose, to inject meaning into our lives here; lives that exist thanks to serendipity alone. Ultimately, we hold no universal significance. We are but one species inhabiting a tiny, albeit beautiful, planet that clings to a spiral arm of one out of innumerable galaxies in the vastness of space.
Cosmically, we are nothing.
Relatively, we are everything.
Do what makes you happy, you have only the blink of an eye to.