Upon death, a tiger leaves its hide, and a man leaves his name: growing up in Korea, I often heard this proverb that I didn’t give much thought to. This saying revisited my memory almost exactly 5 years ago, when my great-grandmother passed away. I watched my mom pick up her phone, her face grim. She called my dad over and eventually told my sister and me. I cried uncontrollably, so much that it might’ve been my personal record. As I grow older, I wonder what it would feel like to reach the end of my life. Would anyone remember me? Maybe so, but I would eventually be forgotten. Leaving a legacy suddenly seemed like an incomplete definition of a meaningful life. After all, the memory of a person eventually fades whether they mattered or not. So I started to search for a meaning that wouldn’t depend merely on memory.
Conventional purposes of life rely on the individual’s existence, such as fulfillment and pleasure. However, the definitions that continue to have meaning independent of an individual’s existence are slightly different. The way we measure meaning in non-living objects is a good example. A “meaningfully” used clock relies on whether or not the existence of the clock created a change by helping people be aware of the time. Had the clock not helped at all, it might as well have never existed, aside from maybe serving as an unimportant wall decoration. Comparing a clock and a human life may seem underwhelming, but the comparison serves only as a window to what meaning usually implies. In order to understand meaning in human life, a complex topic, it’s easier to start from simpler grounds. As such, meaning post mortem can be interpreted as a yes-or-no question of, “did my existence change something?” A common interpretation of this logic may encourage making grand accomplishments, and a polarized version may end up treating ordinary people as disposable while idolizing “important” people. Though I agree that innovators, pioneers, and leaders were important, when I think about the people who influenced my life, historically important people are often not the first to come to mind.
During freshman year, I enjoyed hanging out with a group of lowers in my dorm, Rockwell. As crazy as “Rockwell lore” gets, my first year was not so calm either. One late spring night, I was researching for an upcoming history paper, windows open to escape the humid heat of the approaching New England summer. I would later regret my decision, however, as a wasp entered through a gap in the window screen. Despite all efforts to evict or shoo the unwelcome guest, the wasp flew away and eventually landed back on my pillow. Watching me struggle to find a solution, my lower friends in Rockwell offered me a place to sleep in their rooms. Though not as emergent or dramatic, they also invited me for some fried chicken and gave me a long talk about big to-dos and to-NOT-dos in freshman year. Though they didn’t change the course of history, they changed my experience of Andover, giving me memories that mattered even if I forgot the details one day.
When they look back into their lives decades, years, maybe even months from now, the memories of wasps, fried chicken, and pep talks with a freshman won’t be the first thing on their minds. However, they created enough impact to make these events the first things on my mind when reminiscing about freshman year. It’s different from leaving a legacy in history or lasting forever, but just as impactful and meaningful on a personal level.
My great-grandmother wasn’t able to brand her name to the world like how the old Korean proverb encourages us to, but maybe that wasn’t the point. The reason I exist, why I came to wonder about this topic, and why this article is published are all in her credit. Those are all changes she’s continuing to make even after her death, so that on its own is enough impact and meaning.
I understand what the proverb was intending: encourage aspiring souls to leave an immovable mark, like a giant “I was here” scribble on the world. While it’s good to dream big and history tends to remember those who changed the world, our own lives are more often shaped by those who changed our own worlds. Perhaps then, the meaning, value, or purpose of our lives can’t solely be defined by leaving the largest mark possible, but also by leaving meaningful impacts in the lives we are fortunate enough to touch.
