My “Legacy Project” Has Nothing to Do With Money.
The Inheritance I’m Leaving Isn’t in a Bank Account
My grandfather was a man of modest means. When he passed, he didn’t leave behind a big inheritance. His “legacy project” was the grove of 50 oak trees he planted on a small plot of land behind his house over 30 years. He knew he would never see them fully grown. Now, 30 years after his death, my cousins and I have our family picnics under the shade of those magnificent trees. It was a legacy of patience, foresight, and a love for a future he wouldn’t be a part of. It’s a powerful reminder that the most valuable legacy you can leave has nothing to do with money.
The “Second Mountain”: What I’m Climbing in the Second Half of My Life.
The First Was for My Ego, the Second Is for My Soul
My first boss spent 25 years climbing his “first mountain.” It was all about ego: the big job title, the impressive salary, the recognition. He reached the summit at 48 and found the view was empty. His “second mountain,” the one he’s climbing now, is completely different. He left his corporate job to teach high school history. This climb isn’t about personal achievement; it’s about contribution. He says the first mountain is about what you can get from the world. The second is about what you can give back. The air is thinner, but the view is infinitely more satisfying.
I Wrote My Own Eulogy at 50. It Changed the Way I Live My Life.
A Letter From My Future to My Present
In a midlife coaching workshop, my mentor was given a strange assignment: write his own eulogy. He had to imagine what he would want his best friend to say about him at his funeral. It was a morbid but powerful exercise. He realized the eulogy he wanted—one that spoke of his kindness, his adventures, his impact on others—was completely different from the eulogy he was currently earning—one that would talk about his long hours at the office. That gap became his roadmap. He started living his life in a way that would earn the eulogy he truly wanted.
The “100-Year Plan”: Thinking Beyond My Own Lifespan.
What Impact Will My Life Have in 2124?
A landscape architect I know told me she works on a “100-year plan.” She plants trees that won’t mature for a century. She designs parks that will serve generations she will never meet. This idea blew my mind. I started applying it to my own life. What small actions can I take today that will ripple out beyond my own lifespan? Mentoring a younger person, preserving a family story, contributing to a cause I believe in—these are my ways of planting trees. It shifts the focus from my own immediate gratification to a much longer, more meaningful timeline.
How I’m Investing in My “Health-Span,” Not Just My Lifespan.
I Want to Be a Spry 80, Not Just a Living 80
My dad’s financial planner always talked about planning for a long “lifespan.” But my dad, after seeing his own parents decline, became obsessed with his “health-span”—the number of years he can live with vitality and independence. He realized his best financial investment wasn’t just in his 401(k), but in his health. He invests in a gym membership, good quality food, and regular sleep. He knows that every dollar he spends on his health today could save him ten dollars in medical bills down the road and, more importantly, buy him a vibrant, active old age.
The “Life Portfolio”: Diversifying My Investments in Joy, Health, and Purpose.
My True Wealth Isn’t Just in My Bank Account
My aunt, a former stockbroker, told me she manages her “life portfolio” just like a financial one. She says her wealth isn’t just her net worth; it’s a diversified portfolio of assets. She has her “health assets” (fitness, nutrition), her “social assets” (strong friendships, community), her “purpose assets” (mentoring, volunteering), and her “joy assets” (hobbies, travel). She makes sure she’s not over-invested in one area (like her career) at the expense of the others. It’s a brilliant way to think about building a truly rich life.
The Question That Guides My 50s: “How Can I Be Useful?”
A Simple Antidote to Existential Dread
A family friend, a retired executive, told me he was miserable for the first year of his retirement. He felt irrelevant and bored. The question that saved him was simple: “How can I be useful today?” He stopped focusing on his own happiness and started looking for ways to be of service. He became a volunteer mentor for young entrepreneurs. He used his decades of experience to help them avoid the mistakes he had made. Shifting his focus from “How can I be happy?” to “How can I be useful?” gave him a profound new sense of purpose.
I’m Building a “Library of Wisdom” for My Grandchildren.
The Things I Wish I Had Known at 20
My grandmother didn’t leave me money. She left me a box of letters. Each one was written to me, to be opened on a future birthday. On my 30th birthday, I opened a letter filled with her advice on marriage and partnership. It was an incredible gift. I’m doing the same for my own young children now. I have a journal where I write down the hard-won lessons of my life. It’s a “library of wisdom,” a legacy of love and experience that I hope will guide them long after I’m gone.
The Difference Between a “Resume” and a “Legacy.”
One Is a List of What You Got, the Other Is a Story of What You Gave
For the first 20 years of my career, I was obsessed with building my resume. I collected job titles, promotions, and accomplishments. It was all about what I could get. In my late 40s, I started thinking about my legacy. A resume is a list of your achievements. A legacy is the story of your contributions. It’s the people you’ve mentored, the lives you’ve touched, the positive impact you’ve made. I realized I want to spend the second half of my life building my legacy, not just my resume.
The “Reverse Bucket List”: Things I’m Grateful I’ve Already Done.
An Inventory of Past Joys
I was starting to feel anxious about my “bucket list,” this long list of things I hadn’t done yet. A friend suggested I create a “reverse bucket list” instead. I spent an evening writing down all the amazing things I’ve already experienced: the places I’ve traveled, the friendships I’ve had, the challenges I’ve overcome, the love I’ve felt. Looking at that long list filled me with an overwhelming sense of gratitude, not anxiety. It was a powerful reminder of the rich, full life I’ve already lived.
How Mentoring a Younger Person Became My Most Fulfilling Work.
The Best Way to Solidify Your Own Knowledge Is to Teach It
At 50, I felt like my career had plateaued. I was a bit bored. My company started a mentorship program, and I was paired with a 25-year-old new hire. The experience was transformative. Answering her questions forced me to distill 25 years of my own messy experience into clear, useful wisdom. Helping her navigate challenges reignited my own passion for my field. It was the most fulfilling work I had done in years. The mentee got guidance, but I got a renewed sense of purpose.
The “Compound Interest of Good Habits”: My Plan for the Next 40 Years.
The Small, Daily Deposits in My Health Bank
In my twenties, I could pull an all-nighter and eat junk food with no consequences. In my forties, that’s no longer true. I’ve started to think about my health habits like compound interest. A daily 20-minute walk, choosing water over soda, getting 7 hours of sleep—these are small, daily deposits in my “health bank.” They don’t feel like much on any given day, but I know that over the next 40 years, the compound interest on these good habits will result in a massive payoff in my quality of life.
I’m Not Retiring; I’m “Refiring.”
Redirecting My Energy, Not Extinguishing It
My uncle, a former engineer, “retired” at 65. He was miserable within six months. He told me, “I don’t want to retire. I want to ‘refire.'” He didn’t want to stop working; he just wanted to stop working on things he didn’t care about. He took his engineering skills and now volunteers with a group that builds accessible playgrounds for disabled children. He’s using his decades of experience on a project that ignites his passion. He’s not winding down; he’s just redirecting his fire toward something more meaningful.
The “Ethical Will” I’m Writing for My Family.
The Inheritance of My Values
A traditional will passes on your valuables. An “ethical will” passes on your values. It’s a document that’s not legally binding, but is emotionally profound. I’m writing one for my children. In it, I’m sharing my core beliefs, the most important lessons I’ve learned, my hopes for their futures, and stories from my life that shaped me. It’s my attempt to pass on my moral and spiritual legacy. It’s a way to tell them what truly mattered to me, far beyond any material possessions I might leave behind.
How I’m Planning for a Joyful, Not Just a Financially Secure, Old Age.
My “Joy” 401(k)
Financial planners are great at helping you plan for a financially secure retirement. But my mom is taking it a step further: she’s planning for a joyful retirement. She’s actively cultivating hobbies now that she can do when she’s less mobile, like painting and playing the piano. She’s nurturing friendships that will sustain her. She’s creating a “joy” portfolio. She knows that financial security provides the foundation, but it doesn’t automatically build a happy life. You have to intentionally plan and invest in your sources of joy.
The Relationships I’m Nurturing as My Most Important Asset.
Your True Net Worth Is Your Network of Love
A friend of mine is a wealth manager. He told me that after watching his clients navigate old age, he’s convinced that the greatest asset anyone has is a strong network of relationships. He’s seen multi-millionaires who are desperately lonely and people of modest means who are rich in love and community. In the second half of my life, I’m intentionally investing more time and energy into my friendships and family. Because when the chips are down, your stock portfolio can’t give you a hug or bring you soup when you’re sick.
The Skills I’m Learning Now to Keep My Brain Sharp for Decades.
My Brain Is a Muscle, and I’m Taking It to the Gym
My biggest fear about aging isn’t physical; it’s mental decline. I’ve started to think about my brain as a muscle that needs regular exercise. So, I’m intentionally learning new, complex skills. I’m learning a new language using an app. I’m taking online courses in subjects I know nothing about. I’m learning to play chess. These activities are the neurological equivalent of lifting weights. They create new neural pathways and build cognitive resilience, which I hope will keep my mind sharp and engaged for the next 40 years.
The “Generational Wealth” I’m Building Is About Values, Not Valuables.
I Want to Leave My Kids a Legacy of Resilience, Not a Trust Fund
I know I’m probably not going to leave my kids a massive financial inheritance. Instead, I’m focused on building a different kind of generational wealth. I want to pass down a legacy of values: a strong work ethic, a sense of resilience in the face of failure, the importance of compassion, and a love of learning. These are the “assets” that can’t be squandered or lost in a stock market crash. They are the tools that will allow my children to build their own happy and successful lives.
The Day I Stopped Worrying About Being “Remembered.”
It’s Arrogant to Think the World Will Miss Me
I used to have this low-grade anxiety about my legacy, about whether I would be “remembered” after I’m gone. One day, I was walking in a 200-year-old cemetery. I saw graves of people who were surely important in their day, but whose names meant nothing to me now. It was a humbling and liberating realization. The world will go on just fine without me. Worrying about being remembered is an act of ego. The real work is to live a good, kind, and useful life now, and to let go of the arrogant need for a legacy.
My “Board of Directors” for the Second Half of Life.
The People I’ve Chosen to Guide My Next Chapter
For the second half of my life, I’ve consciously assembled a personal “Board of Directors.” It’s a small group of trusted people I turn to for advice. It includes: a mentor who is 20 years older than me and can offer perspective. A friend who is brutally honest and holds me accountable. A financial advisor who keeps me grounded. And a younger colleague who keeps me connected to new ideas. I don’t make any major life decisions without consulting my “board.” Their collective wisdom is my greatest asset.
How I’m Designing a Life Where I’ll Never “Have to” Retire.
My Goal Is Meaningful Work, Not an End Date
The traditional concept of retirement—working a job you dislike for 40 years and then stopping completely—seems like a terrible model. My goal is different. I’m trying to design a life where my work is so meaningful and flexible that I’ll never have to retire. This means transitioning from a high-stress corporate job to more flexible consulting work, developing hobbies that could generate a small income, and prioritizing work that I find genuinely enjoyable. The goal isn’t to stop working; it’s to create work I never want to stop doing.
The “Hard-Won Wisdom” I Plan to Share.
The Scars Are the Most Valuable Part
I have learned so much from my mistakes, my failures, and my heartbreaks. For years, I was ashamed of those scars. Now, I see them as my “hard-won wisdom,” my most valuable asset. My goal for the second half of my life is to share that wisdom. Not by giving unsolicited advice, but by being open about my struggles and what they’ve taught me. My legacy won’t be a story of perfect success; it will be a story of resilience, and I hope that story can be a source of comfort and guidance for others.
The “Annual Review” I Do on My Life, Not My Career.
A Performance Review for My Soul
Every December, I take a solo retreat day to conduct an “annual review” on my life. It’s not about my job performance. I review my performance as a husband, a father, and a friend. I ask myself hard questions: Did I live according to my values this year? Where did I fall short? What brought me the most joy? What caused the most pain? What do I want to learn next year? This yearly, structured reflection is more important than any career review. It’s how I hold myself accountable for living an intentional life.
How I’m Cultivating a “Beginner’s Mind” for the Rest of My Life.
The Joy of Knowing Nothing
After 25 years in my field, I was an expert. It was safe, but it was also boring. My goal for the second half of my life is to constantly cultivate a “beginner’s mind.” I’ve taken up hobbies I’m terrible at, like pottery and coding. The joy of being a complete novice, of being free to ask “stupid” questions and make a mess, is incredibly liberating. It keeps my brain flexible and reminds me that there is always something new to learn. I want to die as a curious beginner, not a know-it-all expert.
The Community Project That Became My Legacy.
The Little Free Library on My Street Corner
My neighbor, a retired teacher, felt a bit lost after she stopped working. She had a simple idea. She built a “Little Free Library” and put it on her street corner. It was a small project, but it transformed our neighborhood. People started talking to each other while browsing for books. It became a community hub. That little wooden box, filled with shared stories, has had a bigger impact on our community than any professional achievement she ever had. It’s a beautiful, living legacy of her love for reading and connection.
The “Five Invitations”: What I Learned About Life From Facing Death.
The Wisdom That Comes From the Bedside
A friend of mine who works in palliative care shared with me the “Five Invitations”—the five core lessons that people learn when they are confronting death. They are: 1) Don’t wait. 2) Welcome everything, push away nothing. 3) Bring your whole self to the experience. 4) Find a place of rest in the middle of things. 5) Cultivate a “don’t know” mind. Living with these five invitations in mind, long before I’m at the end of my life, has become a powerful spiritual practice.
The “Long Game”: Making Decisions Today for the Person I’ll Be at 80.
A Letter to My Future Self
I have a little mental exercise I do when faced with a decision. I ask myself: “What will my 80-year-old self thank me for?” Will he thank me for working the extra hour, or for taking a walk with my wife? Will he thank me for buying the flashy gadget, or for investing that money? This simple question helps me play the “long game.” It forces me to make choices today that are aligned with the health, happiness, and peace of the person I hope to become in the future.
My Plan to Die “Young” as Late as Possible.
It’s About Vitality, Not Just Chronology
The writer Ashley Montagu said, “The goal is to die young, as late as possible.” This has become my motto for the second half of life. It’s not about cosmetic anti-aging. It’s about cultivating the qualities of youth: curiosity, flexibility, playfulness, and a capacity for wonder. I want to keep learning, keep trying new things, and keep laughing at myself. The number of years I live is less important to me than the amount of youthfulness I can pack into those years.
The Fear of Irrelevance and How I’m Making Myself Essential.
I’m Moving From “Star Player” to “Coach”
In my twenties and thirties, I wanted to be the star player. In my late forties, with younger, faster colleagues on the rise, I started to fear becoming irrelevant. I decided to pivot my strategy. I’m consciously moving from being the “star player” to being the “coach.” I’m focusing on mentoring, on sharing my experience, and on helping the next generation succeed. By making their success my project, I make myself essential in a new and more fulfilling way. My value is no longer just in what I can do, but in what I can teach.
The “Love Letter” to the Future I Buried in a Time Capsule.
A Message of Hope for the Next Generation
My wife and I recently created a time capsule with our kids. We didn’t just put in objects. We each wrote a “love letter to the future.” We wrote about our hopes for our children, for the world, and the lessons we’ve learned in our lives so far. We buried it in the backyard, with instructions not to open it for 25 years. It was a powerful act of projecting hope and love into a future we may not see. It was a tangible way of creating a legacy.
How I’m Using My “Midlife Capital” (Wisdom, Network, Resources) for Good.
Cashing in My Chips for a Better World
For 25 years, I accumulated what I call “midlife capital.” It’s not just money. It’s the wisdom I’ve gained from my mistakes, the network of relationships I’ve built, and the skills I’ve honed. In the second half of my life, my goal is to spend that capital. I’m using my network to connect young people with opportunities. I’m using my skills to volunteer for a non-profit. I’m using my resources to support causes I believe in. I spent the first half earning my capital; I’m spending the second half investing it in the world.
The “Anchor” Habits That Will Keep Me Grounded for the Next 40 Years.
My Non-Negotiable Daily Routines
The world is chaotic and unpredictable. To navigate the next 40 years, I’ve established a few “anchor” habits that I do every single day, no matter what. A 15-minute meditation in the morning. A 30-minute walk outside. Reading for 20 minutes before bed. These small, non-negotiable routines are the anchors that keep my ship steady in a stormy sea. They are the constant, grounding forces in my life that I can rely on, regardless of what external challenges may arise.
My “Non-Financial” Retirement Plan.
What Will I Do on a Tuesday Morning?
My dad’s retirement was a disaster because he only had a financial plan. He had no plan for how he would fill his time. I’m creating a “non-financial” retirement plan. It answers the question, “What will I do on a Tuesday morning?” It includes a list of hobbies I want to cultivate, volunteer organizations I want to join, and a community I want to be a part of. Because a retirement without purpose, structure, and community is just a long, lonely weekend.
The Story of “Me”: How I’m Reframing My Life’s Narrative for the Final Chapters.
I Am the Editor of My Own Autobiography
For years, the story I told myself about my life was one of struggle and missed opportunities. It was a narrative of “not good enough.” In my midlife, I realized I am the author and editor of my own story. I can choose to reframe the narrative. The “failures” were actually “lessons.” The “hardships” were what built my “resilience.” I’m consciously editing my own autobiography, not to lie about the past, but to interpret it in a way that is more compassionate and empowering as I head into the final chapters.
The “Tribe” I’m Building to Grow Old With.
My Chosen Family for the Long Haul
You can’t choose your family, but you can choose your “tribe.” I’m in my late forties, and I’m consciously cultivating the group of friends I want to grow old with. These are the people who share my values, who I can be vulnerable with, and who I can count on. We talk openly about our plans to support each other as we age. It’s a chosen family, a small, loyal tribe that we are building intentionally to be our support system for the long haul.
The Unsexy but Crucial Topic of “Long-Term Care” Planning.
The Conversation No One Wants to Have
It’s the least sexy topic imaginable, but my wife and I are talking about long-term care insurance. We saw what happened to a friend’s parents when they failed to plan. A single health crisis wiped out their life savings. We are in our late 40s and healthy, but we know that now is the time to have this conversation. It’s about making a financial plan that will protect our assets and, more importantly, prevent our children from having to bear the financial and emotional burden of our potential future care.
How I’m Modeling a “Good Old Age” for My Children.
Showing Them That Getting Older Isn’t a Tragedy
I want my children to see that aging isn’t something to be feared. I’m trying to model a “good old age” for them. I want them to see me trying new things, staying physically active, nurturing my friendships, and staying engaged with the world. I want them to see that the second half of life can be a time of great joy, purpose, and growth. The greatest legacy I can leave them isn’t money; it’s a positive and hopeful blueprint for how to live their own lives fully, at every stage.
The “Awe and Wonder” I’m Prioritizing in My Daily Life.
The Antidote to Cynicism
The daily grind can easily lead to a feeling of cynicism and boredom. As I get older, I’m intentionally prioritizing the cultivation of awe and wonder. I’m making a point to watch the sunset. I’m reading books about science and nature that blow my mind. I’m listening to music that gives me goosebumps. These small, daily doses of awe are the antidote to taking the world for granted. They keep my heart open and remind me that despite all its problems, the world is still a place of profound mystery and beauty.
The Political/Social Cause That Gave My Later Years a New Purpose.
I Got Mad, Then I Got to Work
For years, I was cynical about politics. I felt powerless. But in my fifties, I got angry about a local environmental issue. I decided to stop complaining and get involved. I started attending town hall meetings. I joined a local advocacy group. I found a cause that was bigger than myself. This new purpose has energized my later years in a way I never expected. It gave me a tangible way to channel my energy and a feeling that I can still make a difference, however small.
The Day I Forgave Everyone, Including Myself.
The Final Act of Letting Go
My grandfather, a few months before he died, told me he had spent a week doing a “forgiveness meditation.” He sat quietly and mentally went through his life, forgiving every person who had ever wronged him. The last person on his list was himself. He said it was like taking a 100-pound backpack off after carrying it for 80 years. He wanted to enter the final chapter of his life with a clean slate and a peaceful heart. It was a profound lesson in the liberating power of letting go.
The “Pruning” of My Life: Saying No to Make Space for a Deeper Yes.
A Gardener’s Approach to a Meaningful Life
A gardener knows that you have to prune a rose bush, cutting away the smaller, less promising buds, so the plant can direct its energy to creating a few magnificent blooms. I’m applying this principle to my life. I’m “pruning” away the obligations, relationships, and activities that are just “okay.” I’m saying “no” more often. This pruning isn’t about deprivation; it’s about strategy. It’s about conserving my finite energy to give a deeper, more powerful “yes” to the few things that truly matter.
The “Joy Portfolio” I’m Actively Managing.
A Diversified Fund of Happiness
My financial advisor helps me manage my investment portfolio. I’ve decided I also need to actively manage my “joy portfolio.” I’ve identified the key “asset classes” that bring me joy: time in nature, creative expression, deep conversation with friends, and learning new things. Each week, I check in to make sure I’m diversified. Am I spending too much time in one area and neglecting another? It’s a conscious, active process of ensuring my life contains a healthy, balanced mix of the things that truly make me happy.
How I’m Future-Proofing My Body and Mind.
The Pre-Hab for a Better Old Age
I have a friend who is a physical therapist. He says people always come to him for “rehab” after an injury. He’s a huge advocate of “pre-hab”—doing the work now to prevent the injury later. I’m applying this to my whole life. I’m “future-proofing” my body by focusing on balance and flexibility, not just strength. I’m future-proofing my mind by learning new skills. I’m future-proofing my social life by nurturing my friendships. I’m doing the pre-hab now to ensure a healthier and happier future.
The Legacy of Laughter: The Importance of Not Taking It All So Seriously.
The Most Important Thing Is to Keep Your Sense of Humor
My great-aunt lived to be 98. She was sharp, funny, and irreverent to the very end. Her legacy wasn’t her accomplishments; it was her infectious laugh and her ability to find humor in everything, especially herself. She taught me that perhaps the most important legacy you can leave is a legacy of laughter. As I plan for my own “second half,” I’m trying to remember not to take it all so seriously. A life filled with purpose is great, but a life filled with laughter is a joy to live and a beautiful memory to leave behind.
The “Gentle Activism” That Suits My Midlife Energy.
I Can’t Go to Protests, But I Can Write Letters
In my twenties, my activism was loud and energetic. I went to protests and rallies. In my late forties, my energy is different. I’ve found a form of “gentle activism” that suits me better. I can’t be on the front lines anymore, but I can write letters to my elected officials. I can donate to causes I believe in. I can have quiet, respectful conversations with people who disagree with me. It’s a less glamorous but more sustainable way for me to stay engaged and contribute to the world.
The Art of “Savoring” and How I’m Practicing It.
My Brain Is Velcro for Bad Experiences and Teflon for Good Ones
Psychologists say our brains are like Velcro for bad experiences and Teflon for good ones. We remember the one criticism all day and forget the ten compliments. The art of “savoring” is the conscious practice of reversing this. When something good happens—a beautiful sunset, a delicious meal, a kind word from a friend—I pause for 15 seconds and consciously absorb it. I try to lock it into my memory. This simple practice is retraining my brain to notice and appreciate the small, everyday joys I used to let slide right by.
The “End-of-Life” Conversations I’m Having Now, While I’m Healthy.
The Most Loving Conversation You Can Have
My wife and I recently sat down and had the “end-of-life” conversation. We used a guide called “The Five Wishes.” We talked about our desires for medical treatment, who we want to make decisions for us, and even what kind of music we’d want playing. It was a difficult, emotional conversation, but also one of the most loving things we’ve ever done. We gave each other the gift of clarity, ensuring that if the time comes, we can honor each other’s wishes without the stress of guessing.
The “Greatest Hits” Album of My Life I’m Compiling.
A Playlist of My Peak Moments
A friend of mine who is a musician is “remastering” his life’s “greatest hits.” He’s not focused on new achievements. He’s revisiting the things that have brought him the most joy in the past. He reconnected with his old bandmates. He’s taking his wife back to the place they went on their honeymoon. He’s re-reading his favorite books from his twenties. It’s a beautiful way to think about midlife: not as a quest for something new, but as a chance to savor and deepen the best experiences you’ve already had.
The Final Chapter: How I’m Planning to Write a Good One.
The Ending Is What Gives the Whole Story Its Meaning
The ending of a book can reframe the entire story. I’m trying to think about the final chapter of my life in the same way. The choices I make now—how I treat people, what I give my energy to, the grace with which I face challenges—will determine the ultimate meaning of my story. I want my final chapter to be one of purpose, love, and peace. Because a life, like a good book, is often remembered and judged by how well it ends.
My Legacy Is Simple: The Love I Gave and the Love I Received.
The Only Thing You Take With You
When you strip away all the noise—the career, the house, the accomplishments—what is a life really about? My grandfather, in his final days, was not talking about his work successes. He was surrounded by family, holding my grandmother’s hand, talking about the love he felt for all of us. It was a profound lesson. In the end, there is only one thing that truly matters. My legacy will not be what I built or what I owned. It will simply be the love I was able to give and the love I was fortunate enough to receive.