You have no legacy (and that’s okay)

“What will be your legacy?” my friend asked me.

“I haven’t thought about it. I guess I never considered having a legacy outside of being remembered fondly by my family and closest friends,” I answered.

But my friend was all over this legacy concept. He obsessed over it. To this end, he even did an exercise where he wrote his eulogy. He was a big believer in the?Seven Habits of Highly Effective People.?Habit two is: Begin with the end in mind. And now, as he approached his mid-sixties, the end he was focusing on was his death. I thought this thinking to be a bit gruesome.

All this said I didn’t write him off. He was a dear friend who constantly challenged me and got me thinking.

Was he right?

Should I be thinking about what my legacy will be after I’m gone? Should I be working strategically, as was he, to thoughtfully shape and contribute to my legacy every day? Should my legacy be my goal or vision of my life?

I never did get there. Even after thinking about it, this concept of leaving a legacy didn’t resonate with me.

When I thought about it, I recalled a conversation I had with a Jewish co-worker in my late twenties. We talked over lunch about what we thought would happen after we died. One of our Christian co-workers said our soul lives on. Although our body dies, our essence, our soul, lives on into eternity.

“Goes on to where?” we asked.

“After death, we meet God face to face, and there is a judgment. Those who turned to God in this life and repented our sins by accepting Jesus’ sacrifice go to heaven. Those of us who didn’t go to hell,” he explained.

I asked the Jewish co-worker, “What do you believe?”

She said, “As a Jew, we believe we live in the hearts and minds of those who love us.”

I walked away from that lunch, a bit unsettled. I liked what my Jewish co-worker said. It made a lot of sense to me. But something in me, like a voice, caused me to believe there is life after death. It didn’t make sense that when I die, I am gone. There had to be more. If not, then my life is only a memory.

It took me twelve years after that lunch conversation to believe in my Christian friend’s answer to life after death. At forty years old, faced with the emptiness of addiction and achievement and on the precipice of losing everything, I came to believe Jesus was the answer.

But because of my respect for my close friend, I continued to think about my legacy. The more I thought about it, the less I cared. I came to believe the legacy of my life will be how I am remembered by those who l loved and loved me.

Then I heard an interview with John Lithgow, the actor, and he put this idea of legacy into perspective for me.

He said, “When I was in my early sixties, I was working with some younger actors. I began talking about Cary Grant, and they asked, ‘Who is Cary Grant?’”

That’s when I knew an actor has no legacy.

An actor’s life is in the moment, in the current performance. The interaction with the audience at that moment in time. He asked the interviewer, “How many people watch the great films of the thirties and forties on TCM (Turner Classic Movies) channel?”

This is how a legacy is built. At least this made sense to me.

I am not focused on my pre-written eulogy as my guide to the life I live today. I need to simply trust God and follow Jesus in this life. I know where I am headed. He assured me.

And my legacy?

It is the interactions I have each day with the people Jesus put in front of me. Will I make these interactions about me or about them? The result of all these interactions will be my legacy. It is that simple. This is the way people will remember me after I am dead and gone.

And by this measurement, I am sure it will be a mixed legacy. But it is not mine to judge or define. It is up to my individual family members and the thousands of people I interacted with over my seventy years on this earth.

They will define my legacy, not me.

It is not a goal to be achieved. Like the actor, my legacy will be built in each moment of each interaction.