A reflection on passing and remembrance
A former writing teacher, an influential writer and artist, died Sunday. I’ve been thinking about legacies, about the impact of work and life. In a way, writing is a search for influence and immortality, for a greatness beyond our limited daily lives and a hope that something of us remains behind to make the world better for having had us in it. How to measure a legacy? Is it in the number of people influenced? How many is enough to create an admirable legacy? Is it in the size of the change affected, or is it enough simply to have caused people to laugh, to think and to dream? Is it even possible for a person to comprehend or engineer her own legacy? Do some, by seeking to secure a legacy, taint its very essence with their own self-aggrandizing? Is a legacy something we give or something that is given to us by others as they reflect our efforts?