A friend and colleague today grapples with the nebulous term ‘legacy’, a term so freighted with meaning as to be devoid of it. A teacher he gives of his knowledge, but observes that his students often don’t understand the deeper meaning of what he imparts and perhaps understand themselves. His teaching offers not so much knowledge as a mirror to his own quest for signification, a vector showing himself the direction of a legacy.
Now he’s in a vast room of academic achievements that tower around him. But the victories he craves go well beyond material things. More than success he wants to be recognized for what he really is. … His dream — it’s clear — outstrips any material ambition and so it might be no more than an amplified regurgitation of childhood insecurities about recognition for true abilities as opposed to wealth or ego satisfaction.
But also about being trapped in a cycle of validation that keeps going. And more than that, he might simply be torn between the idea of being happy — in his career — at all. … Or the happiness might simply be a dream, to become forever unattainable and take the pressure away. He’s stressed about letting go. That some ambitions, like getting a white male to address all his insecurities, might never happen.
Or Kim Kardashian taking a selfie with him.
He wants to reform the education sector — doing more to train the teacher of the future might be a more worthy legacy than most. But would he write the book if no one knew his name? Nor were the title there, could it be written under a pseudonym? Or not his name? These thoughts about legacy haunt him — though he’s clear-eyed about their absurdity.
14th-century book.
He reckons with the choice — to fight the demons over this, or simply accept their terms. This after all — his legacy — is about himself, what he leaves, what really matters. More than leaving something of himself behind, perhaps it’s about what he really needs. Small moments of joy in a fulfilled life? Perhaps fulfillment lies not in legacy but in the joy, the contentment found in the smallest daily moments of the life not yet led?
Or in a book?