I talk a lot about legacy in my line of work, and I think about it even more. With my clients, we discuss what their hopes and dreams are for the next generation. But often before that, I ask if the subject has ever crossed their minds. So many of us are so busy working to create the NOW that we don’t often have the capacity or the time to think about the idea of what’s next:
“What does legacy mean; what kind of legacy do I hope to leave?”
Whether we make a plan around it or not, we are still leaving a legacy: good, bad, intentional, unintentional. We will be remembered by those who come after us for something…perhaps it is the check we will write. But the greater likelihood, that we don’t talk about, is that our legacy will be left in other ways. For my mother-in-law, one of her legacies was the “umpenade” she used to make for my husband as a boy.
It’s a pizza dough that is rolled out flat, then cauliflower is pressed onto the bottom, Italian sausage and a tomato spice mix layered on top, then the pizza dough is pulled and pinched on the top, and the whole thing is washed in egg and baked. Think fancy, Italian, submarine sandwich like a calzone. When I use her recipe and make the umpenade for my husband, he is taken back to his childhood where he remembers Italian dinners, family, wine, a stepdad he vowed never to be like, and summers in Cape Cod. It’s like a warm hug and a reminder of who he wants to be wrapped around him. For me, it’s a direct path to his heart, a roadmap or clue from the past that gives me one more little piece to the puzzle of what makes him tick…that’s part of Pauline’s legacy to me.
A legacy doesn’t have to be a grand gesture or followed by countless zeros on a check. A legacy could be as simple as the way someone made us feel, or a fancy word that your husband uses instead of saying “Italian calzone.”
One piece of legacy that I think is often misconstrued or even missed is the idea that legacy is one thing, that we have one chance to “get it right.” I’ve been in meetings with estate attorneys where families have gone back and forth about what the “right” legacy to leave is. The reality is that we are completely missing the point when we even use the word legacy. It should be “legacies.”
In fact, legacy is defined in two succinctly different ways:
An amount of money or property left to someone in a will.
The long-lasting impact of particular events, actions, etc., that took place in the past, or of a person’s life.
I have an outspoken bias towards the second. You may have noticed this by now. You may have also heard me speak about my family’s legacies over the years…including the place I love the most in the entire world. It has informed my character, my state of mind, my hobbies, how to love, how to be.
When I talk about legacy, my past, my present, my future; our family home in the Adirondack Mountains of upstate New York is what comes to mind. Since 1877, when the railroad was laid from New York City and Philadelphia to this little slice of heaven, my family has congregated here. When I think about my legacy, it’s thoughts of the old ‘burning barrel’ where we burned our paper and everything possible because the dump charged by the pound.
I think of the family dinners with 20 people around the black lacquer, candlelit table, where my grandparents, Bob and Penny, would lovingly SHOUT at each other as they were stationed on opposing ends of the table because they were hard of hearing and three martinis in by the time Jeopardy ended and the famished children could finally eat. I also think of running barefoot through the grass on Monday nights playing capture the flag with hundreds of children, many of whom I would see every summer for the rest of my life. I think of watching fireworks on the Fourth of July on the third hole of the golf course. The dads wearing jackets and ties every Saturday night for the lobster buffet, and falling asleep to the sound of a raging brook outside my window. Every time I smell fresh-cut balsam, I’m taken into those same woods where I ran up mountains, admired views for miles, nursed mosquito bites, and sang folk songs around a campfire. This place was my legacy. This will be my legacy.
We recently took a trip to New York from Park City with my now 18-month-old daughter, Poppy. Our first outing was to that brook behind our house that lulled me to sleep countless nights in my childhood. There she begged to walk in and out of the water. I was both shocked and delighted that she wanted to play in the frigid stream of my childhood. After an hour, we meandered up to the garden to snack on a few fresh blueberries; she kept asking for more. I let her into the blueberry encampment my grandfather had built nearly 40 years before, which enclosed its bushes, now trees many feet taller than me. I pulled the plumpest blueberries I could find off the bushes and she grabbed them from me by the handful.
As I watched Poppy wander naked through the blueberry bushes that my grandfather cared for and tended year after year, I yearned for him to be there with us. I wished he could see her smile as she ran across the pine needles, stopping only to crash into my legs to give me hugs as she squealed with berry juice dripping out of her smile…it was only then I realized he was. He was there, living on through her laughter, her joy, and the cherished memories he created that continue to shape our lives.
The love and care we pass down are far more enduring than any material wealth. I will never forget that day in the field with my daughter, surrounded by everything my grandfather worked so hard for during his lifetime. When I think about my legacy, I hope I leave one like he left for his great-granddaughter and all those that come after her. His legacy, his work, and his spirit live on, vibrant and strong as ever, through the joy and laughter of a new generation.
If you would like to discuss your family’s legacies, you can reach Park City Wealth Advisors in Park City, Utah by calling or texting 435.500.5979.
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