I found the perfect phrase to describe this particular phase of my particular life.
We are not human doings – we are human beings.
Last month I was reading an article from one of those techie magazines when the author referred to ‘legacy products.’ These are products that still work and are hanging around. They are not as good (fast, reliable, etc.) as newer models, yet they still have some use, potential or otherwise.
Techie examples of legacy products are old desktops, laptops, iPads, tablets, and cell phones. (I do wish that netbooks could still be used, and I’m dreading the day when my iPod gives up the ghost.)
Tech legacy products can also include some of the tangled cords that you may have nesting in drawers or baskets or other spots around your home. I’m fairly certain those legacy cords don’t breed, but they sure seem to accumulate faster than the devices they serve.
I’m leery about decluttering the cords since I did it one time and then could no longer find the cord to fit my old, old, old Palm pilot. I wanted to wipe it before sending it to its final home – I had to settle for driving over it, instead.
Anyway, when I read the article mentioned above, an idea hit me like the smack of a hip falling on ice. I gave an excited “that’s it!” to the grey cat lazing on my lap. She raised her head, gave me one of those ‘why are you bothering me’ looks, and nestled back down. I refused to let her indifference worry me, for I had found the perfect phrase to describe this particular phase of my particular life.
I’ve decided that I am a legacy human being. After all, I still work even though parts of me work less well than they did when I was younger. I work by being a volunteer. I work by learning and trying to use that learning. I work by maintaining a home. I work by maintaining and enhancing friendships and family where I can. I work on my health, although that can be an intermittent effort.
I like to believe I have some use, over and above being an organ donor or a cat-lap. I support the community and non-profit organizations. I shop locally and I pay taxes. I vote.
There is no doubt that the RAM in my brain is no longer fast at retrieving facts, names, or faces, when they can be retrieved at all. This is embarrassing in social gatherings unless a goodly number of other legacy humans are present who also have insufficient or slowing RAM.
At the same time, my disk space is full of experiences, thoughts and feelings that lend themselves out as wisdom, often embedded in anecdotes or stories. I should say that it feels like wisdom to me, even if the recipient may be wondering what I’m going on about, or may be bored to tears. Fortunately, I can still take a hint, as they repeatedly tap their watch on or check their phone. Or yawn.
Yes, I’m a legacy human being. Useful, I hope. Contributing, as I’m able. Trying to lay a positive foundation for those who come after, despite mistakes and failures of the past, whether from my generation or those who went before.
Now, being a legacy is not the same as leaving a legacy. It’s not about money, memories, experiences or education that others may have when I’m gone. It’s not about the money, photos of folks long passed, shelves of books, and things I haven’t decluttered yet.
It’s about me as an older Yukoner with an unknown health span and an unknowable life span ahead. It’s about living and loving and enjoying lap time with my kitty. In the end, as an old friend used to say: “we are not human doings – we are human beings.”
My cat concurs.
