AFTER I'M GONE – Leaving a Legacy

Many of us Baby Boomers are feeling things we've never felt before. But I'll leave confusion, forgetfulness and pain for future posts.

It's the concern that I might move on from this place without anyone knowing who I really was.

Seriously, what I'm talking about is the way I and many of my friends are starting to reflect on our lives and their meaning. Have I created anything of value? Have I done anything to make the world a better place? Have I loved well and been loved?

One undeniable aspect of this reflection—at least for me–is the concern that I might move on from this place without anyone knowing who I really was. I don't mean who someone else thinks I am, but who I think I am.

REPS AND RAPS
We all acquire certain "reps" and "raps" throughout life as we find our places in our families, communities and circles of friends. Some of these characterizations are misplaced, and they can be harder to shake than a dog on your leg. In fact, they can be so persistent that we come to believe them ourselves.

I suppose you could say I want my legacy to refute all those charges. It's not that I couldn't understand a spreadsheet or a contract; I just didn't care about them. I wasn't undisciplined, just spontaneous. Insecure? Well maybe unassuming.

It feels like I need to start, if not remodeling, at least tidying up that space I call legacy for those who may visit after I'm gone.

But the fact is, there's nothing we can do about those bum raps; they're often less about our true identity, than the need others have to categorize us—usually to the benefit of their own image. Ultimately, all we can do is be true to our own moral compass and responsible for our own choices.

WHEN I GROW UP
Perhaps the greatest, most meaningful legacy one can leave is manifest in one's children. If they grow up to be decent, caring, contributing citizens of this world and, in turn, pass their best genes and values on to future generations, that's a pretty amazing gift, isn't it? Given a few setbacks and strokes of pure luck along the way, I feel I've done that.

But there's clearly a more selfish angle to my growing preoccupation with legacy. What I'm realizing is that more important to me than my grandchildren looking, thinking or acting like me is that they be proud of me.

Could that be why I'm feeling this sense of urgency, this inkling that, after a lifetime as the perpetual liberal arts undergraduate dabbling in this and that, it's time to finally choose what I want to be when I grow up? It feels like I need to start, if not remodeling, at least tidying up that space I call legacy for those who may visit after I'm gone.

Maybe this is why I've been able to move so seamlessly from a career as a graphic designer and marketing guy to life as a writer. Of all of the clever concepts and the thousands of little designs and copy blocks I've created for clients, few will ever be seen again after a year or two. All this work, while immensely satisfying most of the time, was professional, not personal. I think this is why my current writing, especially One Man's Wonder and the book I'm working on, feels so important to me.

It's about my occasional conversations with elusive truths about peace, love and happiness.

This work is not just by me, it's of me. It's drawing not just on my knowledge or experience but on my spirit. It's about how I've tried to tread on this earth, taking less than I've given. It's about trying to be fully present with everyone and every thing, always expecting the best, and seeing generously. It's about the curiosity, wonder and gratitude that color everything I see and do. And it's about my occasional conversations with elusive truths about peace, love and happiness.

These, I now understand, are the things for which I want to be remembered.