A recent Facebook query asked followers what they most wanted to be remembered for after they passed away. The responses were enthusiastic, sincere, and fervent. People spoke of their passions, their humanity, and their spirituality. I was moved by the posts but mystified. My bewilderment was based on my inability to identify a singular event or characteristic I wanted to be commemorated for.
It was disquieting. To quash my angst, I set out to pinpoint ten achievements in my lifetime, moments when I felt happy and proud. The only filter was that I had to view those occasions unfettered by attribution to anyone other than myself.
I set off on this quest at the start of a morning run, the world borne anew by time but timeworn with routine. I mentally sift through a checklist of my major life categories: family, work, friends, fitness, travel, hobbies, volunteerism. I can arrive at certain feats, and I can measure identifiable milestones, but none of them was free from my belief that someone else could have done them better, faster, or cheaper. I quelled my rising panic by limiting the list to five –a more realistic goal.
I subjectively search and sort and come up blank. I am a better-than-average mother to my children, but nothing notable. I am a devoted wife, but my self-rating regresses towards the mean due to my impatient temperament. The law firm I founded almost twenty years ago has a wonderful reputation, but that is due to the acumen and integrity of all the lawyers and staff, not just me. I am reasonably fit, but I neglect important muscle groups and flexibility programs as fitness trainers would be quick to remind me. It is true that I work out every single day, with some walking days built in, and I have done so for over a decade. But the inevitability of exercise has reduced the accomplishment to the mundane.
I winnow through a hodgepodge of other qualities. I am interested in concepts and ideas, but I am not the least bit intellectual. The family dogs would give me a solid rating, but I care too much about their behavior and their waistlines to their liking. I am relentlessly tidy without a trace of fanaticism, but it is not something that should be showcased as my legacy. I am a devoted recycler, but I am probably not discriminating nor attentive enough as to what items are eligible. I am diligent about setting deadlines and conscientious about their completion – though I have not transferred old family videos to electronic format despite my best intentions.
And then an idea emerges, a personal feature that I love about myself. I cannot attribute this quality to hard work or persistence or discipline or intelligence, but I have one characteristic that I adore: I cannot wait to get out of bed in the morning. I wake up early every day without an alarm. Through practiced fortitude, I stay in bed until 5:30 a.m., impatient to begin my day. The world beckons with potential, its allure indescribable. I am akin to a suburban farmer, the cadence of my existence tethered to emerging daylight, natural beauty, and the beguiling fragrance of morning air. The measured murmurs of dawn are intoxicating with possibility and inspiration.
I suspect that I will need to write my own obituary, as I am not certain that there is a lot of content to convey. If so, it will go something like this:
She was humble, busy, and she adored her family. One of her greatest joys was getting out of bed every day, an undertaking that she approached with irrepressible delight.