Legacy Was the Wrong Word
In 2023, I was asked to speak on legacy at a nonprofit annual review event.
I was excited. Honored. Ready.
Legacy had become a theme in my life—something I believed deeply in. I thought of it as the ultimate measure of a person: how they impacted the world, how they showed up for others, what they left behind.
A couple days later, I was sitting in the car with my dad, telling him about the opportunity.
He didn’t congratulate me.
He didn’t ask about the audience.
He asked a single question that stopped me cold.
He challenged whether legacy—even the way I was using the word—had quietly become self-centered in a culture obsessed with visibility, branding, and being remembered.
It hit harder than I expected.
Not because he was wrong—but because he wasn’t.
The Problem I Couldn’t Ignore
I started paying attention.
I asked friends, colleagues, people I trusted what legacy meant to them. Nearly every answer centered on me, my, or I.
My legacy.
My name.
My family.
My impact.
Even the best-intentioned answers still pointed inward.
And that’s when it became obvious: whatever I had been chasing for years—it wasn’t legacy. At least not in the way the word had come to be used.
I had three weeks before that presentation, and suddenly I didn’t know what I was talking about anymore.
The Search for the Right Frame
I did what most of us do when we’re stuck.
I read.
I listened.
I searched for language that could explain the thing I was trying to live but couldn’t quite articulate.
And then, over an unremarkable Taco Bell meal with my dad, it landed.
Not from a book.
Not from a podcast.
From the same person who questioned me in the first place.
What I wasn’t describing was legacy.
It was service without credit.
A life oriented toward others without keeping score.
Impact that didn’t need attribution.
Doing the right thing whether anyone noticed—or not.
Legacy was still about being remembered.
This was about being useful.
What Changed for Me
That shift reframed everything.
I stopped asking, “What will people say about me?”
And started asking, “What am I leaving with people?”
My dad once told me something when I was young that I didn’t fully understand until much later:
“Every time you meet someone, you leave something behind—either a good piece of your soul, or your baggage.”
That’s the part that stuck.
Not monuments.
Not names on walls.
Not posts or recognition.
Just the residue you leave in people’s lives.
Why This Matters Now
We live in a time where doing good is often accompanied by documentation.
Photos.
Posts.
Announcements.
None of that automatically makes the act wrong—but it does change the motivation. And motivation matters.
Real service is quiet.
Real impact compounds invisibly.
Real leadership often looks like restraint.
The strongest people I know don’t need to announce what they’re doing for others. They’re too busy doing the work.
And they’re not weak.
They’re disciplined.
They’re emotionally intelligent.
They’re strong enough to carry responsibility without applause.
The Mirror That Matters
I’ve always liked the idea that life’s rearview mirror isn’t there to show what’s coming—but to show where you’ve been.
Some people leave chaos behind them and never see it.
Others look back and see something else entirely—growth, strength, relief, confidence, hope.
That difference isn’t accidental.
It’s the byproduct of how you live when no one is watching.
The Question That Stuck With Me
So instead of asking what legacy you’ll leave, here’s the question I sit with now:
Who are you serving—quietly, consistently, with no benefit to yourself?
Not your family.
Not your closest friends.
Five people whose lives are better because you showed up—and will never owe you for it.
If you can answer that honestly, you’re probably living the thing I used to call legacy.
I just needed the wrong word to finally understand the right one.