Legacy and Loss

I was going to write something else today.

Something else entirely, about how I'm stressing out about wedding finances, and life finances, and how I feel like I haven't accomplished enough professionally for my age. 

I was going to write something about how it's hard to sometimes stay focused on your own path, and your. own progress, and your own journey in this life of highlight reels and social media celebrations and whatnot.

I was going to write something about learning to tune out the chatter - for everyone has their own progress, and all timing is not the same.

I was going to write how it's ok to give yourself a break, and that it's OK to focus on one thing at a time, and that you're not an octopus and sometimes you just have to remind yourself that you can't do it all.

I was going to write that if you're an artist, there is no shame in taking jobs that pay your wallet more than they pay your soul, cause, well, you have to eat.

I was going to write all that.

And then I was wasting valuable time on Facebook, and I saw that  a friend I had in high school lost her older brother to melanoma this week, and everything else I was going to write just seemed dumb.

And then, I was just still.

I didn't know her brother. I didn't know his wife, or his kids, and honestly, I haven't spoken to this classmate of mine in years.

But it just stopped me in my tracks, in my thought process, in my focus of the day. And I sat there and wrote on the post that I was sorry for her loss, and that I was sending love and light to her family.

I read what others wrote, and it reminded me of what matters most.

The legacy we leave behind isn't wrapped up in accolades or awards. It's not about the number in your bank account, it's about the number of people you've touched - the souls that hurt when they cannot call you, or talk to you, or laugh with you, or sit with you.

It's about the ones who think about life differently because they've known you, and how they carry you in their hearts and actions for the rest of their days.

Be still with those you love, be present in the moments you share, and give thanks for what you have - for our days on this earth are far too short.

May you rest in peace, Lindsey. 

photo by Joe Pallister of designingjoe.com