One of my favorite exercises is to write my own eulogy. It’s a way to focus my attention on what really matters most in life.
A eulogy is different from an obituary.
An obituary is written for strangers, to note your accomplishments in life.
A eulogy is delivered by friends and family in a more intimate setting — often at your funeral, but also around the dinner table, or at a shiva house, or in a letter or essay.
An obituary tells people what you did. A eulogy tell people who you were.
Many of us want to make things that matter, to feel like we’ve contributed to the world in some meaningful way, with something that lives beyond our lifespan.
Artwork. Books. Buildings. Contributions to science. New products. Inventions.
When we make something concrete that outlives us and is useful to others, we feel like we matter.
But if you listen to people deliver eulogies, they almost never linger long on these outward accomplishments.
Instead, they speak about how the dead person showed up for them. They say things such as:
No matter what was going on in her life, she always made time for me when I needed her.
He accepted me unconditionally for who I am, regardless of what I accomplished.
No matter how badly I messed up, she never judged me or made me feel wrong or bad. She always embraced me with compassion and taught me to have compassion for myself.
Even in my darkest moments, he made me laugh.
She displayed confidence in my abilities without loading me down with expectations to achieve.
He made me feel like I was the most important thing in that moment, and even when I knew he had many other pressing matters to deal with, he never rushed me.
In our desire to achieve great things, we often lose touch with the truth that it is not what we create, but how we show up, that is our real legacy.
There is no greater gift we can give another person than to hold space for them to fully express their emotions, to help them feel seen and heard, to accept them unconditionally for who they are, and to share our confidence in their abilities without weighing them down with expectations for achievements.
Most books are quickly forgotten. Ideas get recycled. Science evolves, so that today’s breakthrough might be tomorrow’s footnote. Buildings — even some of the greatest — get knocked down.
But when we show up for people in the way that helps them feel unconditional acceptance and confidence without the burden of expectations and accomplishments, we help them realize the full potential of who they are.
Imagine the ripple effects if we could give this gift even to one person. Imagine if that recipient passed this gift on to just one person. And on and on.
This type of legacy cannot be torn down or overwritten with new ideas.
It’s a gift that pays forward for time immemorial.
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