HOUSTON

TEN YEARS AGO, Princess Diana’s life was taken tragically in a tunnel in Paris. Up to 2 billion people would watch the memorial services around the globe. But, as the world wept over Diana, the news arrived that Mother Teresa had died of cardiac arrest. The irony was that while the world mourned the princess it conferred sainthood upon, it overlooked real beauty.

And now, 10 years later, concerts and media profiles honor the princess’s life, but even less is remembered about the nun. The death of Diana has been scrutinized perhaps more than any other, when instead we would have been better served examining the life of another.

As beloved as she was for her angelic touch of those dying of AIDS, Diana’s own self-absorption has become more legendary. As Tina Brown has noted in her bestseller, The Diana Chronicles, Diana was at a loss as to why the Pakistani cardiologist she really loved preferred his work at a hospital to spending time with her.

St. Diana? Or a lover spurned?

These are the excesses, and the truth of her legacy lies somewhere in the middle. But there was no middle for St. Teresa. She was the kind of person who, upon finding a woman “half eaten by maggots and rats,” sat with her until she died.

Part of the unprecedented outpouring from the death of Diana, 36, was due to her premature and tragic death, while Mother Teresa, who died at 87, had lived a long and exceptionally productive life. And despite her frailties, Diana had a courageous compassion motivated in no small part by the inspiration of her friendship with the nun. Diana had a good heart; Mother Teresa a great life.

Were the glamour and sadness of the princess’s life simply more compelling than the life of a nun working in the slums of Calcutta? Do we dream more of being Princess Diana or Mother Teresa? After all, “happily ever after” is found in castles, not slums.

The nun disavowed fame and wealth, yet in spite of herself became more rich and powerful. The princess was glamorous, but suffered from a poor self-image. The nun wore a $1 sari and couldn’t care less about the painful bunions on her mangled feet. The princess’s dresses are displayed at the Althorp Museum for us to adore. The nun’s blue and white trimmed sari went with her in the box.

One compassionate woman rejected commercialization because of her vow; the other embraced it because of her role as a princess, but also for its pleasures. As a people who are soaking in consumerism, is it any wonder that we would rather flood our lives with the lifestyle that embodies those things?

Yes, I know, we aren’t all called to be nuns; but wherever we live and work, we are surely called to something larger than our own existence and indulgences. It is why the reaction to the deaths of these two women speaks volumes of our age and who we’ve become. Surveys tell us that if we had a choice of whether we could be smarter, stronger, more beautiful or famous, we pick fame – every time. The psychologists have always said that our greatest human need is to be loved – to be noticed in the crowd. The absurdity of our time of technology is that we have drifted further apart and many of us, especially our teenagers, are more alone.

It used to be that you would receive love and reinforcement from parents, peers, and teachers. Now, it comes from texting, chat rooms, MySpace, and Facebook. And we certainly would fancy it even more if it came from the paparazzi, the agents of such weighty periodicals as US and People. Why else would we be so enamored with the tragic lives of Lindsay, Paris, and yes, Diana.

Both the princess and nun left their legacies, but one was celebrated more than the other. It is a commentary not on the death of the princess and the life of the nun, but on us. It is our nature in our therapeutic day that causes many to embrace the life of a princess rather than a nun. We want what the princess has, and it would be nice if we had the nun’s reputation, too.

Les T. Csorba, author of Trust: The One Thing that Makes or Breaks a Leader (Thomas Nelson), is an executive recruiter in Houston.