Pure ambition is a force, like a hurricane. It exists to serve itself, and no other master. Julius Caesar wept at a statue of Alexander the Great because at the same age Alexander had conquered so much of the world. Alexander sliced the undefeatable Gordian Knot in two to prove that nothing would ever stop him. And because, quote, “fuck that knot.” Even the Gordian Knot itself did not rest until it became the most intractable knot in the history of tangled rope. Truly ambitious people desire power for no other reason than that they desire it. They are furnaces, and power is the coal that keeps their fires burning. In the days of Caesar and Alexander, this meant, sacking cities, stripping them of resources, and yoking the conquered to their will. Now it might mean acquiring money, or fame. The drive is the same.
These people do not know what they want to do with the world once it is theirs. It does not matter. Not that they cannot have plans. They may spend hours discussing these plans with those who support them, for true power cannot be achieved alone. But for the ambitious, plans are always subordinate to goals. Sack the capital of the Persian Empire. Acquire LucasArts. Land the starring role in the next Michael Bay mega-blockbuster. They have dreams of what they want to do when they are on top. But they are just dreams. They will always be a step further than reality can achieve. We live in a universe without perfection, but only those who strive for perfection can achieve the monumental. So the fire burns. So lands are conquered.
This is where I find myself. I have an ambition. I have a dream of something that some say cannot come to pass, but the fires that burn within me cannot be denied. So I have plans. I have stratagems, and counter stratagems to nullify the obstacles in my path. There will be many. I have resources, both material and abstract, blindly acquired and horded to serve my ends. I have gathered allies. Skilled individuals with a dozen different skill sets, waiting to be bound together with the cord of my intricate design into a single tool with a single purpose. All of this is waiting. Waiting for me to say the word. Waiting to strike.
Yet I pause. I am so close to achieving victory, and yet I pause. My ambition has never burned hotter, and yet I pause. Will victory lead to emptiness? Can the consequences of my actions be justified by the passion with which I pursue them? Once I achieve my victory, will new vistas open up before me, or will the spoils of my conquest seem an empty and trifling thing once they are finally within my grasp?
After all, seriously, I mean, what I am I going to do with all of those sevens?