Our insignificance

We are so focused on our own little lives, that we rarely take notice of our insignificance. 

I recently saw a secondary connection of mine on LinkedIn share a heartfelt and kind post about his mother. She’d passed away 10 years ago.

He shared pictures of her as a little girl and as a young mother. He talked about her generosity, with one exception; she never shared a chocolate chip cookie. That was for her. That’s my kind of gal.

It was a sweet post and offered me a moment to pause. 

I didn’t know this woman. Neither did almost anybody that saw the post. Neither did most of the people in her community, or even those on the street on which she lived, I’m guessing.

If almost nobody knew her now, that means that nobody will remember her 100 years from now. Her son, and other children, and grandchildren that may have known her would have passed by then, certainly. The pictures I saw of this woman will one day be gone, never to be seen again by anyone.

Someday, I suspect my son or daughter will share something about me when I die. It will be sweet, I hope.

I hope, too, it will remind someone else that knew me of the things I did for them, if I was the kind of person that was helpful and kind and generous, of course.

But I suspect that not long after that, I’ll be forgotten. Perhaps it will be when my grandchildren pass, or, if I’m so blessed, my great grandchildren.

But I’ll be forgotten quicker than I’d like to imagine.

On one hand, this is dispiriting. What is all of this for, after all, if we truly are just dust in the wind?

On the other hand, this frame of mind is liberating. Why not take chances? Why not build big things, dance in the rain, and burn out in a blaze of glory? You’ll be forgotten if you live small, or if you live big. 

Perhaps living big is the better bet. It sounds more exciting, anyway.

As we enter a new year, that is something I’m keeping in mind.