earlier this week, as i was deleting old social media accounts i’d abandoned, i came across facebook’s memorialization settings. i’d never made a decision on it. so i chose deletion. if i’m ever reported dead, erase it all.
decisions around death and legacy haven’t always been easy for me. for years, i was obsessed with permanence: leaving something behind that couldn’t be erased, making an impact that would ripple long after i was gone.
i used to lie awake worrying about domains expiring, about my work dissolving into digital nothingness. i researched ways to keep websites alive forever when i wasn’t here to renew them. those traces (proof of my thoughts, my work, my existence) felt like the only thing that could keep me alive to people who’d never met me. i craved that kind of immortality, and i was certain the path was digital.
but i don’t feel that need anymore.
somewhere along the way, i realized permanence doesn’t exist the way i thought it did. the internet forgets. files corrupt. even the greatest legacies fade. and slowly, i made peace with that.
because if i’ve lived well, my impact is already here. it doesn’t need preserving in servers or search engines. it lives in people.
it’s my nephew sprinting to hug me each morning like my presence is the highlight of his day. my sister noticing acne on my face, worrying more than i do, buying me skincare i never asked for. my brother-in-law’s daily knock (whether i’m awake or asleep) just to say he’s heading out. my mom calling because it’s been too many days since we last spoke. friends sending reels, trusting i’ll laugh, that i’ll get the joke, that i’ll feel connected across a screen.
these are the imprints that matter now, and they’re impossible to delete nor do they easily expire.
of course i still dream big. i want to build, create, make millions and leave behind things that inspire others. but those dreams don’t overshadow the small moments anymore. they don’t blind me to what legacy actually is: presence. showing up for people who will one day feel the weight of my absence.
the world probably won’t remember my name. but my nephew will remember the hugs. my sister will remember my face at the dinner table. my brother-in-law will remember the sound of my door opening. my mom will remember our calls. my friends will remember the jokes we shared.
and maybe that’s more than enough.
now i believe legacy is about being fully here while you can be. and when that ends, trusting that the love you gave will linger, even if only for a little while.
