Celebrity is not for everyone.

Here are three snapshots of me in my imaginary scenarios:

1) I'm onstage, belting out my latest hit song before thousands of fans who are so loud in their adulation of me that they can't hear a single word I sing, but they don't care.

2) I'm in Sweden (I think) accepting the Nobel Prize for Physics.

3) I'm getting my picture taken with the mayor of my hometown for being named Teacher of the Year for our school district.

What do these snapshots have in common, and how are they different? I'll give you a few seconds to think about it.

Okay, here it is: number one is celebrity, number two is fame, and number three is recognition.

They all involve being singled out as special, worthy of attention, but they aren't the same. Not by a long shot. And those of us who are ambitious have to figure out which one we really want.

We all want to be recognized for our efforts and achievements, but we may not want the celebrity -- the attention to us personally -- that may come with it. J.D. Salinger became widely recognized for his novel THE CATCHER IN THE RYE and then went into hiding, where he remains to this day. He got famous for that novel to boot. But he didn't want the celebrity that went with it, meaning that he didn't want the attention paid to him as a person. I'm sure the last thing he wants is fans seeking him out at his home, asking for his autograph.

Similarly, many who make breakthrough discoveries, in science or other fields, probably enjoy the recognition of their hard work but hate the idea of getting dressed up to go to award ceremonies and being thronged by admirers afterward. They just want to get back to work. In the case of the Nobel Prize, you have to remember that it's not given for something someone discovered last year but maybe many years before; it's taken that long for his/her colleagues to evaluate the work and determine that it's significant in the long run. Hence fame, not just recognition (and certainly not celebrity).

And real fame -- being remembered for our deeds eveb after we're gone -- is totally beyond our control. History decides who's famous and who isn't. No publicist, however skilled, can make anyone famous. Celebrated, yes; famous, no.

Celebrity is the real kicker, the one that fouls most of us up as we imagine ourselves praised and touted and idolized. It's the easiest one to fantasize about: throwing that perfect pass to the end zone in the Super Bowl, blowing away the crowd at halftime at that same game with our rendition of whatever song, being drooled over by millions because of our TV talk show, etc. Of course it's also the least likely for most of us, but hey, that's what fantasizing is all about, no?

The reason I say celebrity -- the most glamorous of the three kinds of attention -- is a kicker is that most of us who yearn for it don't realize the strings that are attached to it. Let me list a few: constant judging of everything we do and everyone we're with; snotty remarks about our every statement or political/religious view; long lenses on us at all times to record our every date or even casual encounter, not to mention how we look in a swimsuit (did he/she gain weight? ); endless speculation about our marital status (is he cheating on her? is she pregnant?); etc.

In other words, a total loss of privacy.

If you are a celebrity, someone who is in the public eye not so much for something you've done as for your own glorious self, you belong to the public. (Quick now: Name three Drew Barrymore movies. Three Adam Sandler movies? Three novels by your favorite romance novelist? Sorry, time's up!) If you're a celebrity, then you are who you are because of your fans. They made you who you are, and you owe them, through their agents, the photographers and reporters. You're answerable to them. They demand access to you, and maybe they have a right to.

Are you ready for that?

On the other hand, if you discover a cure for malaria, you will indeed be in the newspapers and maybe even on TV, but the focus will be on what you did, not who you are (or what you look like). You will be recognized, and even -- for a brief time -- a celebrity, but, in the end, no one will remember your face, only your accomplishment (with your name attached, you hope).

Jonas Salk is justifiably famous for discovering the polio vaccine, but how many of us could pick him out of a line-up?

Sometimes celebrity and fame overlap, as in the case of Albert Einstein, the inventor of theories almost none of us have any hope of understanding but who had the wild-haired appearance that made him a visual icon of intelligence to this day. The same could be said of Andy Warhol, whose pop paintings brought him to the attention of the art world but whose pasty-faced, white-haired appearance, and his glamor-loving lifestyle made him also a celebrity. Ghandi might be included on such a list: his pacifist teachings helped free India from the British, but the pictures of him, anorexic but wise-looking in peasant clothing, turned him into a celebrity. Mother Teresa, too.

Recognition, the cousin of fame and celebrity, is most often the result of a smaller group -- not the whole nation of teenagers screaming after Brittany Spears -- acknowledging something you have done that they, and maybe only they, know is worthwhile and significant. In some ways, it's the most gratifying kind of attention, as it's usually given (1) by people you know and whose respect you value and (2) in your lifetime. Recognition is the foundation of both fame and celebrity but need not -- usually doesn't -- lead to either or both. Enjoy it for itself.

So here it is in a nutshell. If you want to be famous or recognized, do your best at whatever you're best at. If your work is deemed valuable, you'll be recognized. If your acomplishments last, you'll be famous. If, on the other hand, you want to be celebrated -- a celebrity -- then do your utmost to get yourself looked at, and don't be alarmed when people do, to an extent that might make you uncomfortable. No whining allowed.

Don't say you haven't been warned.

When did we stop thinking about being left alone?

Everywhere I go, people are on their cell phones.

And I'm not talking just kids. Grown-ups, both male and female, seem to have these little listening devices plastered to their ears when they're walking or driving, even in cars through intersections where you would think two hands on the wheel and real attention would be required.

Some states have passed laws outlawing or at least limiting the use of cell phones when driving a car, but I think that misses the main concern.

When did we stop thinking about being left alone?

I understand that teens need to be in constant contact with each other and always have, though I can't imagine how they did it before the internet and cell phones. Actually, I do know. We met up at hang-outs, sat on cars, talked and flirted. And we called each other on the phone late at night when our parents were in bed.

But what about the rest of us? The adults. You and me. Why do we have to be in constant contact with everyone in our lives? Whatever happened to private time? Just me by myself, even for fifteen minutes. And I don't buy the notion that it's just our kids calling us. I think we have reached a point where we need to be available to all our friends, too, any time of the day, even if we're behind the steering wheel of a 2,000 pound -- or more, much more -- car? Is it that we can't stand our own company for even an hour?

In other words, I'm wondering if we just don't spend much time anymore thinking. Thinking. You and me and just our thoughts. Slowing down, spending a little time with ourselves. Deep breath. Let it out. There. Doesn't that feel better? No?

Okay, back to the phone. The kids, the husband, the friends, the doctor, the boss, the whoever!
They all seem to take precedence nowadays over ourselves and the time we spend alone. I do know at least a few people who have told me, right up front, that they can't be away from their cell phones even for a minute. They can't take that precious time because they might miss a call from someone who needs their attention or who will make them feel more loved or more useful or more accepted into a group. They just can't take the chance.

And they will interrupt a conversation with you/me -- face-to-face -- to take a call on a cell phone from whoever is calling, even if they don't who it is.

With every advance in technology, I wrote sometime ago, we lose a functionality. With the advent of instant communication via cell phones -- and, of course, texting -- we have lost the physical conversation we used to have when we could only meet in offices or over lunch or in our homes with our friends and relatives and even husbands and wives. The eye-to-eye contact, the body language, the sheer joy of sitting across from, or next to, another human while we talked. We've become kind of robotized, in a way: just voices -- or even just abbreviated words -- passing through cyberspace, with no subtle but important cues attached.

Of course this is fine for some communications -- business deals, soccer dates, just-checking-in calls -- but as a substitute for real human meetings, it's got some limitations. You can tell so much about someone -- a potential date or employee or even possible golf partner -- just by spending real time with that person, something you can't do online or via your cell phone.

Call me old-fashioned -- yes, I hear the chorus mounting -- but I still think that certain relationships and certain situatons call for a person-to-person, face-to-face meeting. Humans are infinitely adaptable, meaning that we can do the dating and the hiring and the breaking up with others online or by cell phone or texting -- impersonably, in other words -- but we lose something when we do it that way.

I think we should use the new technologies to explore job opportunities, book flights and rooms, look up information, and yes, even meet interesting people. But we should recognize the limitations of those technologies, too, and remember that there is something special about locking eyes with that certain someone across a room for the first time or nailing that job interview because you went in there and presented your best self and left knowing that they liked you or hanging out with someone for so long that you realize you have a new best friend. All that existed before email and texting, and nothing has changed. The human factor is still in play and is still your best guide.

Back to the original idea: There really was a time when most of us wanted to be left alone every day, at least for a while. No computer, no pager, no cell phone. Just us and our thoughts. A time to relax and reflect, to just be ourselves, with ourselves, comfortable with it. Hey, maybe having a drink or a whatever. Chilling. Out of contact. For a while.

Waiting for a phone call from that special someone. Composing a letter to that same someone.

Lots of time. No hurry. Watching life pass by. Being a hippie part of it all. One with it everything. Peace. Brotherhood. Love.

But forget all that!

Are you online? You're not? Why not? Get online! Somebody may be trying to text you! Can you afford to miss it? What are we paying you for?

Be bold and turn off the computer one day a week. Don't check your cell phone. Spend some time with yourself.

You might be surprised what you'll find out.