What Will Your Life Leave Behind?
How we live may be the most important thing we ever leave behind.
I recently read a Guardian article asking a fascinating question: what do people who work closely with death know about living well?
The advice came from palliative-care doctors and end-of-life doulas — people who regularly witness what remains important when much of the noise, striving and distraction of everyday life falls away. Their observations were remarkably simple: prioritise people over things, keep work in perspective, notice the small moments, stay connected, look after your health without becoming consumed by it, embrace ageing, live intentionally, and don't leave the important things unsaid.
None of it was particularly revolutionary.
Perhaps that's what made it so powerful.
Because when life is viewed from its end, many of the things we're encouraged to chase seem to lose their importance. Status. Possessions. Appearance. Productivity. Accumulation. Even longevity itself.
What remains is much more human.
How did you live?
How did you love?
Who did you become?
The article interested me for another, more personal reason.
I have no children. I don't have a partner. So it made me wonder: where do my responsibilities lie?
Not simply what will I leave behind when I die, but what responsibility do I have for the way I live while I'm here? With however many days I have left — hopefully plenty — how can I best use them?
I don't particularly think about legacy in the conventional sense. What interests me far more is whether the way I live can be of some use to the people whose lives intersect with mine.
My family. Friends. Clients. The people I laugh with, disagree with, support and occasionally irritate.
Perhaps my responsibility is to demonstrate something worthwhile: that we can grow older without withdrawing from life; remain strong, curious, playful and useful; meet difficulty with greater steadiness; change behaviours that no longer serve us; and recognise that self-kindness isn't indulgence but responsibility.
Perhaps I don't need someone to inherit my life.
Perhaps I need to make sure I don't waste it.
How We Live Is How We Die
I've long been inspired by Pema Chödrön's How We Live Is How We Die. Our relationship with change, uncertainty and impermanence isn't something we suddenly need to confront at the end.
We're practising it now.
How we respond when things don't go our way. How tightly we cling. How readily we forgive. How patiently we listen. How kindly we treat ourselves. How courageously we meet uncertainty.
Life gives us thousands of small opportunities to let go of what was and meet what comes next.
And therefore thousands of opportunities to practise living well.
A Life Is Built in the Small Things
The Guardian article repeatedly returned to something I've become increasingly convinced of: most of life isn't the big stuff.
It's making breakfast. Moving your body. Calling someone. Sitting with a coffee. Watching the ocean. Cooking for someone you love. Apologising when you've been an arse. Choosing patience when irritation would be easier.
The extraordinary moments are wonderful. But numerically, they're hopelessly outnumbered by ordinary Tuesdays.
So perhaps the quality of our lives is determined largely by the quality we bring to the ordinary.
This is where self-kindness becomes much more interesting than bubble baths and indulgence.
Self-kindness is practice.
Going to bed when you'd rather keep scrolling. Moving when inertia says otherwise. Eating in a way that supports the body you'll inhabit tomorrow. Setting a boundary. Having the uncomfortable conversation. Letting go of resentment. Choosing not to numb yourself. Catching your reaction before it becomes somebody else's problem.
These actions seem small.
Repeated over decades, they're anything but.
They shape our health, certainly.
But more importantly, they shape our character.
Your Life Is Teaching Someone
How we live doesn't only affect us.
People are watching.
Not in a judgemental sense. In a profoundly human one.
Our family, friends, colleagues, clients and communities experience how we meet life. How we handle disappointment. How we treat ourselves and others. Whether our values disappear the moment they're inconvenient.
We mentor each other through proximity and example.
Someone can observe that growing older doesn't have to mean becoming less curious, playful or alive. Someone struggling can see that human beings can change direction. Someone facing adversity can witness that difficulty needn't automatically produce bitterness.
Perhaps, as we age, this becomes one of the greatest opportunities available to us.
We can become exemplars of living well.
Not perfect people.
Human beings becoming increasingly self-assured without arrogance, strong without hardness, disciplined without rigidity, kind without passivity, and able to meet difficulty without being completely defined by it.
That's mentoring without necessarily saying a word.
Ageing Isn't the Problem
One of my favourite observations in the Guardian piece came from palliative-care doctor Rachel Clarke, who reframes wrinkles, grey hair and the physical signs of ageing as evidence of something many people never receive: the privilege of growing older.
That's Age Powerfully in a nutshell.
Not pretending we're 30. Not declaring war on every wrinkle. And certainly not abandoning ourselves because we're getting older.
Age powerfully means continuing to cultivate the physical, mental and emotional resources that allow us to participate fully in life.
Strength. Mobility. Curiosity. Relationships. Purpose. Humour. Adaptability. Courage.
We look after our health not because we're trying to defeat mortality, but because vitality gives us greater capacity to live while we're alive.
What Are We Actually Leaving Behind?
We talk a lot about leaving something for the next generation.
A house would certainly be handy. Money wouldn't hurt. And apparently somebody has to inherit the silverware.
But what if we leave people material abundance without helping them cultivate the inner resources required to experience life well?
What good is wealth without self-control?
Opportunity without courage?
Comfort without resilience?
Longevity without vitality?
Possessions without the capacity for contentment?
Perhaps one of the greatest inheritances we can leave isn't something people receive after we die.
They receive it while we're living.
Our character. Our steadiness. Our kindness. Our humour. Our willingness to apologise. Our curiosity. Our capacity to endure and our ability to enjoy enough.
Our example of someone continually learning how to meet life well.
That is why Vita Vitality has never really been about simply becoming healthier.
It's about waking up to our lives.
Restoring vitality so we have the capacity to participate.
Living deliberately so our choices increasingly reflect who we aspire to become.
Ageing powerfully so we continue cultivating rather than withdrawing.
And perhaps, eventually, dying well — knowing that the way we lived quietly taught something to the people who shared the journey with us.
However Many Mornings Remain
Maybe that's what this article ultimately made me consider.
Not how I want to die.
How I want to use the life that comes before it.
However many mornings I have left, I have some responsibility for what I do with them — for the body I inhabit, the mind and heart I cultivate, the choices I make, the relationships I nurture and the person those repeated choices are slowly creating.
And perhaps that responsibility extends beyond me.
Because the way we live is witnessed.
Our kindness, steadiness, courage, humour, generosity and capacity to meet life well can become part of what others carry forward.
A house is useful. Money is useful. Even the family silver might eventually find a willing recipient.
But perhaps the most valuable inheritance we can offer doesn't require us to die before people receive it.
Our example.
Restore Vitality.
Live Deliberately.
Age Powerfully.
And when the time eventually comes, perhaps die well — knowing that while we were here, we didn't simply accumulate a life.
We participated in it.
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Until next time — Think. Choose. Thrive
Luke
Recommended Reading:
How We Live IS How We Die by Pema Chödrön