I often wonder what will become of my life when all I get to say is said, and all I’ve yet to see is seen. When you write, you do not know what will become of the words until you are at the last word. Then, almost magically, you know. This is it—you tell yourself—this is where it ends. This is all I could have done about it. Perhaps, it is the same way with life. The only difference is that you are not here to see what it becomes in the end. You cannot give it a quick glance and check for misspellings or places it seems a bit abstruse. You cannot fix the punctuation. All pauses are there to stay forever, and if someone remembers a comma being in the wrong place, that is what remains until the last time your story is told. Then, it is all forgotten for good.
Of course, it is such a trivial thought; it does not affect how I will live or what I will do with my life. I will do what I feel is best at the moment, and then, all that happens will happen as it does; the stories will be told like they are eventually told, and there is not a single thing I can do about this but that does not mean I don’t think about it. On most days, it is the only thing on my mind: what will I leave behind? Who will they remember? I have so many people within me; I do not know who my appointed champion is, the person I want others to remember; I believe I have not yet met everyone I am supposed to be. I wonder who I will be when I leave. Legacy is a problematic word to think about, let alone think about leaving.
I did not even know I enjoyed looking at trees as much until recently. It is a little change, of course, but it has been my experience that the tiniest changes make the largest impact. Perhaps, that is how I shall think about my legacy, if not forever, then at least for today. Perhaps, when I slowly approach the last word, when I am done with this life, I will revel in this insignificance and laugh: I had so much to say about so little; I wrote a lot of words.