Marvin sat down in the white canvas tent and pushed his spectacles farther up his nose. He had a crazy idea. It would take years to accomplish, but it would all be worth it in the end. It had to be. He clearly printed the names of famous archeologists from all around the world and asked for their assistance. He invited them to a party of sorts to explain the next big thing in the industry.

Weeks later Marvin stood alone in his tent watching the icing melt off of the cake he had tediously spent hours crafting. Alone at a party again. It’s not like this was anything new, but it still chipped a piece of his heart away. Out of the hundreds of invitations he had sent, he received only a handful of replies saying the desert held nothing new, and anyone with half a brain was finding work in the jungle. Marvin slammed his fist into the table and the cake toppled in a sticky mess. Fire blazed in his eyes and he realized it was time to take fate in his own hands. So he dug. And dusted. And searched. And mapped. Every inch of the Sahara desert until one day in late April, the impossible came true. Marvin’s insane obsession had paid off.

The archeologists from the jungle begged to be a part of history. To bathe in the shadow of Marvin’s greatness. Every memory of rejection and mockery filled Marvin’s mind. He wanted them to know pain. But the loneliness he had known filled his bones with a deeper ache. He looked in the depths of his soul and realized that someone needed to reach out even if he’d only received rejection for his attempts. Marvin welcomed them with open arms.