I seem to attract middle-aged women with a proclivity toward the arts, therapy, and quinoa.
And while there is nothing innately worrisome about this, I suppose it just strikes me as a bit odd. Must be my golden sunshine aura.
Whatever the reason behind this magnetism, it serves to lead to interesting conversations. Like the one I had last week, for example.
Over a vegan club sandwich, I spoke with a woman who uses storytelling and art as a way to bring healing and direction to people’s lives. Right away she asked me what I felt my reason for existence was. You know, the usual lunchtime topics.
Before I could arrange an answer, she began to tell me that she helps others find their purpose, passion, and possibilities. Triple “Ps” let me know that she meant business.
“What kind of legacy do you want to leave behind?” She asked.
I paused and thought.
“That’s where you should start.” She said.
I hadn’t yet navigated my legacy, but I nodded along.
“Work your way backward from the legacy you want to leave behind and then construct your life accordingly.”
It was so simple, yet something you call profound because you feel silly for not having realized it already.
Ever since that brief chat I’ve been thinking about my legacy and asking myself, “if I died today, what would I be remembered for?”
I’ve also been thinking about why I’m the target of existential discourse with happy hippy ladies, but that’s beside the point, unless it’s a part of my legacy, which, in that case; what does it all mean?!
I write this not to answer my own questions, but to simply pose them along to you.
So, grab some kale chips, hummus, your hemp-knit yoga pants and mull this thought over for a bit.
I think it’s important not to claim to have our lives figured out, but to have hopes for what they’ll mean to the world once we’re gone.
We can manage that much, I think.