The concept of legacy often brings to mind grand monuments or significant achievements, things left behind to be admired from a distance. But I’ve come to understand legacy in a much broader, and perhaps more profound, sense. It isn’t just a destination we reach at the end; it is the heartbeat of how we live and love right now.

Legacy projects are a beautiful way to curate and share your life's story, values, and love. They can take many forms, each one a unique expression of who you are. Imagine intentionally arranged photo albums; not just a collection of snapshots, but a visual narrative of your life's most cherished moments, perhaps with handwritten captions sharing the stories behind the smiles. Think of scrapbooks filled with mementos, ticket stubs, and pressed flowers, each page a tactile journey through a life well-lived. Beyond the visual, legacy can be auditory and written: recorded messages sharing wisdom and laughter, or a collection of letters addressed to a loved one to be opened at a particular moment in their lives—a graduation, a wedding, or simply a day when they need to feel your presence.

But there is another side to this story: the living legacy. This is the legacy of the present tense. It is the laughter shared over a cup of coffee, the quiet comfort of a hand held, and the way we show up for one another in the small, repeated rituals of daily life. This living legacy is perhaps the most powerful of all, for it is woven into the very fabric of our relationships. It’s not something we leave behind; it’s something we live.

I think of my own grandmother. Toward the end of her life, she lived with the heavy restrictions of COPD; her world had become smaller and her breath was short. One of the few things we could do together was walk in the yard to look for four-leaf clovers. She had an uncanny "clover-eye"—she could spot one from a distance without ever needing to stoop or bend. She would simply point and say, "There’s one," and I’d rush over to find the treasure. That shared activity, the sun on our backs and the mutual joy of the find, is a living legacy I carry that requires no shelf space.

However, magic happens when the living legacy leaves a physical footprint. After she passed, I discovered she had left a secret, tangible legacy project that no one in the family knew about. Tucked safely inside the pages of her Bible was a single, pressed four-leaf clover with a simple note: "I kept this 4-leaf for you Crystal. I love you. Grand-ma Pat." While the memory of our walks is a priceless living legacy, that fragile, pressed clover is a sacred tangible reminder; a physical bridge back to her love. It reminds us that memory itself is a form of legacy. The stories we tell, the traditions we uphold, and the small tokens we leave behind are all ways our loved ones carry us forward, keeping our spirit alive in their hearts.

In my work, I encourage individuals to consider both: the conscious cultivation of your living legacy today, and the small, tangible "clovers" you might leave behind to say, I was here, and I loved you. This is an invitation to live in legacy—to recognize that every conversation is a thread in a tapestry and every shared silence is a gift being wrapped. You do not have to wait for a "final" chapter to begin this work. Start by noticing the small treasures of your daily life; perhaps it is the way you make a specific meal, a phrase you always use, or a hobby you share with a child. By acknowledging these as parts of your legacy now, you turn the ordinary into the sacred. Whether it is a recorded memoir or a hidden clover in a book, these projects ensure that the richness of your life continues to resonate, reminding those you love that they were seen, they were known, and they were cherished in the most intentional of ways.