The former COO of a firm I worked at asked me point-blank at his farewell dinner “what are you?” and I stood there, confused by his question. “What is Stamatis?” he re-iterated…I ended up giving a canned answer about being a can-do, hard-working, dependable guy but spent a lot of time thinking about it after dinner because the question threw me off guard. Here was an incredibly accomplished COO stepping into retirement, asking me a question outside of the realm of corporate normalcy. When he came back at me with “we are all consciousness” I realized that he had probably fully checked out of his role and must have had one-too-many at dinner. I did appreciate his question and answer though, more so because it finally wasn’t work related.

In retrospect, the answer is clear as day; I am a memory in the making. We are the stories people tell about us; dead or alive. The best jobs, universities, and opportunities usually require character references in order to be considered. We tend to ask those who we believe would tell the best versions of the honest story of who we are and what we do best. Each and every one of us is writing our own story but with each action we take, we inspire – good or bad – the stories of others. In aggregate, it’s called history – but history is nothing more than a composition of shared stories of humans being their most impactful selves.

They say that when someone passes away, it’s better to ask their loved ones to tell you a story about the person they lost rather than try to share with them how you felt about them. It’s because those memories are the only things they have left to help lift their spirits. The stories you share or create with others build a library of content that create the eternal character of who you are. I still remember when my grandfather [Stamati] in Greece was dying of cancer almost a decade ago. I made every last-minute rushed arrangement to visit him after I caught wind that he didn’t have much time left, but I still didn’t make it in time. “It’s better you did not come” my father told me, “you don’t want to spoil the memory. He is not the [grandfather] you remember.” Stubbornly, I didn’t understand the value in that statement at the time; I just wanted to see my grandfather. In hindsight though, I have nothing but positive and happy memories and have only seen him (and can only remember him) as a healthy old man.

I have a unique story to share. A story I did not remember until someone else reminded me of it. In high school, I noticed a fellow class mate of mine limping. I grabbed a hold of him and helped him along his way for as long as I could. Despite how much time I spent with him, I forgot about it as the months passed. It was instinctual for me to help him out and a normal frame of operation for my life so I didn’t think much of it. It seems though, that the receiver of my help did not forget about it, and he actually surprised me almost ten years later with a Facebook message (after not having said much to each other since that occurrence) telling me how grateful he was for my help and that other people just walked passed him. I can’t tell you how much it blew me away to receive a random note like this. One simple action from my past came full circle to remind me that all we are all nothing but the memories we leave in our wake.

With time, any material good we can buy withers to dust but words, emotions, memories, and the impact we have on others have the capacity to be eternal. If we actively choose not to waste our time and devote our energies to thoughtlessly giving and thoughtfully taking, we will naturally create future memories of ourselves in others. Each of us is writing a story, directing a movie, living and ego-narrated tale of our own making. Ink fades, film archives can burn, but the memories we help create and feelings we inspire in others are all we ever truly leave behind.