What Remains: Me

I used to think legacy was what you leave behind.

A list of things with your name on them. A highlight reel. A resume you can’t update anymore.

I thought it was buildings, titles, photos on somebody’s wall.

I thought it was the stories people told about you over barbecue and sweet tea, with just enough exaggeration to make you sound better than you were.

But here’s the thing about “behind” it’s static. It’s fixed in place, waiting to be forgotten.

And I haven’t lived a fixed life.

I’ve lived through breaking and mending, through mistakes that wore name tags, through seasons where my ambition was louder than my listening. I’ve loved people well, and sometimes I’ve loved them in the wrong way. I’ve let my priorities age like wine, which is to say, sometimes they got better, sometimes they just got stronger.

What I’ve learned is that the most important things I’ve ever given have no shelf life and no physical form. They don’t sit in a box to be sorted after I’m gone. They’re already moving through the people I’ve known:

A piece of advice that landed at the right time.

A moment where I listened instead of talked.

A laugh that opened a door.

A quiet act of care that was never announced.

I used to think legacy was what you leave behind. Now I think it’s what you leave within.

If I’ve done anything right, it’s planting something in people that doesn’t need my presence to grow. Seeds of humor, honesty, resilience, grace. A little permission to take up space, and a little encouragement to give it.

That’s what remains for me. Not the things I’ve owned, but the spaces I’ve opened. Not the stories told about me, but the truths someone else carries because I happened to be here.

— Shared by Me