What we leave behind

When our tombstones are carved they will inevitably have the date we were born a ----- followed by the date of our death. We all know the date on which we were born. Our loved ones will sadly know the day we died. But who will really know the   -----? What seems like a pointless way to separate those two dates is really everything that we've done in between.  That dash interrupts who we were when we we arrived from the person we were when we died. That represents an entire life  lived. Who will know, or care about that "space.?" I think everybody wants to leave behind some kind of "legacy" We all have the desire to be remembered, and to mean something. Therein lies  our quandary. 

At it's root what does it actually mean to "mean something?"How many people must one impact, or share themselves with to feel like they've meant something? The answer to that question is there is no real answer. We're bombarded with images of people who, in our eyes, mean something: Men contracting the Ebola Virus trying to help children, who have it, in Africa. Veterans returning from a war, most of us know little about. Commercials of people wrapping wounded puppies in blankets while a depressing  Sarah Mcgloghlin song echos eerily in the background. Then we're moved, and touched, and sometimes even envious of these glorious beings that are doing things that will ultimately "mean something." It's a vicious trap that is so easy to get caught in.

I'm extremely guilty of this. I've always known that whatever I do would be great. But I also knew that I needed it to be profound, and have a huge impact. As far back as I can remember I've wanted to change the world.  When I was nine I sat in my parents kitchen, with my Smithsonian Chemistry set convinced I was going to find a cure for AIDS. With every bubbling reaction a created I believed I was on the cusp of saving lives. I ignored the fact that every bottle in that set had a label that read "Warning harmful if swallowed."  For years my quest for greatness marched on. I wanted to find undiscovered planets that I'd tell NASA about, and ultimately have named after me.

Was I a narcissist or just really naive? Perhaps a little of both. The quest to mean something and impact people is at the core of who I am. Yet I'm forced to question why I want it on a grand scale. When I'm gone I have a desire that everyone knows what that dash between my dates of birth and death meant. And that is where I've gone astray. 

I saw a man at the gas station, the other day. I asked him to help me with using my debit card at the pump, because I can't see the screen. He graciously gave me assistance, and in a roundabout way told me he hoped the 5 dollars he had would get him home to Farmingdale. I knew with the price of gas 5.00 would barely get him down the street! I thanked him for his help and ran inside and paid the clerk 10 dollars for that man to have an additional 10 bucks worth of gas. That man was extremely grateful, and thanked me more times than I can count. When we parted ways I knew, regardless of how infinitesimal   I had meant something. In that small act of kindness I had an impact on someone's day. 

While little things may not be life changing, or world enhancing. They do make the world a slightly better place. It was Ralph Waldo Emerson who said:  "The purpose of life is not to be happy. It is to be useful, to be honorable, to be compassionate, to have it make some difference that you have lived and lived well.”