“What is a legacy?
It’s planting seeds
in a garden
you never get to see.”
– Hamilton
(Lin-Manuel Miranda)
I ponder this quote from Hamilton often.
Lately, I’ve been thinking more about how a legacy is truly defined. I’ve observed those in the spotlight trying to force their legacies into existence, unaware—or perhaps not caring—that legacies are not forced; they are earned. They are not determined by us, but rather by how we impacted others and how the actions we took continue to multiply throughout generations.
I think about this constantly as a historical tour guide as I urge guests to consider the true legacy of Milton and Catherine Hershey, which goes far beyond chocolate (though we’re grateful for that, too). It is their generosity that has changed the world; the chocolate was merely the catalyst for that legacy.
I also ponder this in my rare disease advocacy. Part of my motivation in this work is to establish a legacy for my daughter—one she could not establish for herself. It is built through small, daily actions I take in her honor as I help guide others through Newborn Screening policy and expansion, knowing the results may never be seen in my lifetime. It is found in seeking justice for the most vulnerable and loving people I may never meet by helping change policy, never desiring to draw attention to myself.
“Let me tell you what I wish I’d known
When I was young and dreamed of glory,
You have no control
who lives, who dies, who tells your story.”
– Hamilton
Legacy is not something we can force, and it’s not something we should be able to decide for ourselves. It is decided for us after we are gone. It is how people remember us, not how we tell them they should remember us. We can force our name onto monuments and buildings, but that doesn’t mean we have done anything worth remembering. That is often just ego compensating for what hasn’t actually been accomplished—forcing people to recognize a name even if nothing was done to earn the recognition.
You’ll be remembered by those who matter most for how you treated them, how much time you spent with them, and how you made them feel. But the converse is also true: you will be remembered for the things you didn’t do, the time you didn’t spend, and the way you made others feel if it was anything but loved.
Legacy isn’t about how much money you obtained, but what you did with it. Few will remember the expensive cars you drove or the house in which you lived, but they will remember those who chose to be selfless and generous, caring for those around them.
It isn’t about the power you had over others, but how you used that power. Did you spend your energy forcing people to live the life you think they should live, or did you spend it ensuring they were empowered to live the life they were meant to live?
If you don’t want to be merely a footnote in history, you have to look beyond yourself and what you might gain, and instead look at the difference you can make for others.
Those remembered most fondly in history are often those who worked quietly, fighting battles bigger than themselves without knowing if they would ever succeed. They are the ones who fought to end injustice, rather than those who created the very problems others are left to eradicate. Their names may be forgotten, but the impact of their selflessness remains. And I think that’s what they truly desired – to make life better for future generations, not to be in a history book.
While we may have hopes for our memory, only the lives we live can determine if we are worthy of being remembered. We cannot control how others will tell our story someday, but every day brings opportunities to ensure that we are remembered well. Every day brings the choice to live with integrity and to do the right thing when no one is watching.
Especially then.
I hope I am remembered as someone who loved fiercely and fought to end the suffering of children born with rare diseases, no matter where they are born. I hope to be remembered as a mother who advocated for her children to ensure they had a full, abundant life—whatever that meant for them in their particular context. However, what I hope for the future has nothing to do with my name being recognizable – if future families are prevented from suffering as we have, that is what matters.
I do not need credit. I especially don’t need monuments or for my name to be on a building. My legacy is my children and the lives they will live because of the life I lived. It is the policies I am helping to change to create a more just, equitable society where children have access to treatment regardless of where they are born.
I am trying to start stories that would otherwise be ended too soon. And by no means do I need to be a citation in that story, or a footnote. What matters is that their story gets to exist.
Legacies are not shouted into existence; they are born out of humility and a willingness to work toward something greater than ourselves, without the need for fame.
The life you live today will determine how you are remembered tomorrow. So I urge you to consider: How do you want to be remembered? And what are you doing today that will cause people to remember you that way?
Even So, Joy 