Captain Michael: Good morning.
I’ve spent this week thinking about what remains.
And somewhere along the way, the question changed.
It
Good morning.
I’ve spent this week thinking about what remains.
And somewhere along the way, the question changed.
It started as:
What will I keep?
Maybe that’s the wrong question.
Because eventually, we don’t keep much.
But we leave things everywhere.
We leave people a little stronger because we believed in them.
Or a little smaller because we didn’t.
We leave behind lessons.
Standards.
Stories.
Laughter.
Sometimes scars.
Sometimes grace.
We leave the memory of whether we showed up when somebody needed us.
Whether our word could be trusted.
Whether we listened.
Whether we forgave.
Whether we made the room a little better simply by walking into it.
Most of that will never have our name attached to it.
And maybe that’s all right.
A good life doesn’t need a plaque.
It doesn’t need everybody to remember who did what.
Maybe it’s enough to have passed through this world and left a few people better equipped for their own journey.
A little wiser.
A little braver.
A little more certain that somebody gave a damn about them.
We don’t get to decide how long we’re remembered.
But while we’re here, we get a hell of a lot of say in what’s worth remembering.
Good Friday morning, my friends.
Let’s leave something good behind today.
Captain Michael: Good morning. I’ve spent this week thinking about what remains. And somewhere along the way, the question changed. It st
Good morning. I’ve spent this week thinking about what remains. And somewhere along the way, the question changed. It started as: What will I keep? Maybe that’s the wrong question. Because eventually, we don’t keep much. But we leave things everywhere. We leave people a little stronger because we believed in them. Or a little smaller because we didn’t. We leave behind lessons. Standards. Stories. Laughter. Sometimes scars. Sometimes grace. We leave the memory of whether we showed up when somebody needed us. Whether our word could be trusted. Whether we listened. Whether we forgave. Whether we made the room a little better simply by walking into it. Most of that will never have our name attached to it. And maybe that’s all right. A good life doesn’t need a plaque. It doesn’t need everybody to remember who did what. Maybe it’s enough to have passed through this world and left a few people better equipped for their own journey. A little wiser. A little braver. A little more certain that somebody gave a damn about them. We don’t get to decide how long we’re remembered. But while we’re here, we get a hell of a lot of say in what’s worth remembering. Good Friday morning, my friends. Let’s leave something good behind today.
Good morning. I’ve spent this week thinking about what remains. And somewhere along the way, the question changed. It started as: What will I keep? Maybe that’s the wrong question. Because eventually, we don’t keep much. But we leave things everywhere. We leave people a little stronger because we believed in them. Or a little smaller because we didn’t. We leave behind lessons. Standards. Stories. Laughter. Sometimes scars. Sometimes grace. We leave the memory of whether we showed up when somebody needed us. Whether our word could be trusted. Whether we listened. Whether we forgave. Whether we made the room a little better simply by walking into it. Most of that will never have our name attached to it. And maybe that’s all right. A good life doesn’t need a plaque. It doesn’t need everybody to remember who did what. Maybe it’s enough to have passed through this world and left a few people better equipped for their own journey. A little wiser. A little braver. A little more certain that somebody gave a damn about them. We don’t get to decide how long we’re remembered. But while we’re here, we get a hell of a lot of say in what’s worth remembering. Good Friday morning, my friends. Let’s leave something good behind today.
