Legacy – It’s not what I thought it was, Part-2

The first day of my vacation—March 28th—I got a message I didn’t have words for: Susanna was gone.

She was my friend for almost 30 years, and the godmother to my oldest child, and now she is gone. She was just 59 years old.

In the days after she died, I heard from people I hadn’t talked to in years. Messages came in from all over—some from across the country, some from as far away as Paris.

What struck me wasn’t just how many people loved her; it was how specific they were about the impact she’d made.

Not “she was amazing” (though she was).

More like:

“She changed my life.”

“Her book was incredibly valuable to me.”

“She kept me grounded.”

“She inspired me for years to be a better teacher.”

Do you hear the difference?

Those aren’t compliments. They’re receipts of a life well-lived.

They’re proof that she didn’t just exist. No, she moved through the lives of others, and altered what was possible within them for the better.

Her passing has made me think about legacy in a way that feels both tender and urgent.

Legacy isn’t only what you leave behind when you’re gone– it’s what your presence makes possible for other people while you’re still here.

Sometimes it looks like a public body of work—a book, a practice, a body of art.

Sometimes it looks like a quieter form of leadership: the way you tell the truth, the way you stay soft without being passive, the way you bring people back to themselves when the world is loud.

But either way, it has a shape. It has weight. It shows up in sentences other people can say about who you were to them.

This has been sitting right next to my heart as I think about our work at The Ripple Effect Institute.

So many people I meet—especially those committed to social justice—carry a particular kind of frustration, and it’s not because they’re not doing anything. Often, they’re doing a lot.

But their impact? It feels scattered, or episodic, or like it’s always one crisis news hour away from disappearing.

And underneath that is a quieter question most people don’t say out loud:

“If I’m lucky enough to have resources, skills, and influence, what would it look like to make an impact that actually lasts?”

Susanna didn’t get to choose how long she had.

But she did choose—again and again—how she would live inside the time she was given.

Everyone who knew her is now walking proof of her life and the positive impact she left on all of us.

If you’re open to a small reflection this week, here’s what I’m sitting with:

What’s one ripple of positive change you want to create on purpose, while you still can?

Maybe it’s one honest message you’ve been meaning to send, or one hour given to a cause you care about, or one conversation where you stop minimizing what you really want to do to change the world.

Maybe it’s one small act that aligns your life with the kind of legacy you hope people will one day describe with that same certainty: “She changed my life.”
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Now is the time. Take that step.
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Every minute counts.
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And just like Susanna, your voice and your actions can ripple out into the world, and change lives for generations to come.

With love, and in memory of Susanna,

Elizabeth