I’ve spent the last week or so exploring ancient cities in Spain and Italy, traveling alone as planned. Over the last several days, I’ve been consistently struck by something leading to a topic I’ve shared concerning legacy and remembering.

While I sat waiting on a bus the other day, I let my eyes drift closed while working on the words to compose this week’s entry (I’m always far more articulate in my mind before I start typing), and not only were my nostrils assaulted by the smell of jasmine, so were my memories of this month in 1988.

Nearly 40 years later, the smell of jasmine transports me back to the little cottage in Santa Barbara, where I proved the world wrong by finding love, feeling safe in arms that would always be there, and daring to live my life.

The ancients did the same thing before the church took over. With an average life span of about 2/3 my current age, the ancients knew time was fleeting; they had reminders in their homes to live for now because eventually, they would be dead. I think they had a much healthier relationship with the concept of death—they were surrounded by it constantly, and they knew death was merely an extension of life.

This is what I’ve come to realize over the years; it just took me a little bit longer. We look at these ancient civilizations with our modern lenses and wonder why they didn’t simply escape Vesuvius before the eruption, only to learn they didn’t know what it was. Yet, these same civilizations built homes in mountains, created cities with pavement and stepping stones for chariots, and built aqueducts to transport water. They did these things while thinking the gods were angry and without the tools of today available to them. And many of these structures remain over 2,000 years later.

So, when I hear that even 2,068 years later, people still leave flowers on the site where Caesar was assassinated on his death day, how can I not think about legacy? There’s wisdom in the old ways, and yes, we need to adapt to the modern world, but that doesn’t mean we have to stop living our lives.

My reminders this week informed me that I saw the movie UP 15 years ago this week. At that point, I’d already been widowed once. As I shared with my friends and family back then when social media was social, I reminded everyone not to forget to live their lives. I’ve written about this in these pages before.

I believe we can’t spend all our time living to work without working to live; there must be joy in our lives, but if we’re unwilling to stake a claim to it, someone else will take it from us. I’ve noticed another thing gets in the way when I plan to do something. This week, for example, I took workout clothes with me on vacation. I had every intention of being in the gym, but I fell and injured myself that first day away. No workouts for me.

I’m trying to make a point, but in doing so, I run the risk of repeating myself, again, with what appears to have been the theme for the last several weeks: I’m not dead yet, and there’s a lot to see, to do, and to live.

I believe my legacy won’t be as great as Caesar’s (I’ll have no dressing made in my honor), but my legacy will be more minor and lasting. My legacy will be in how my kids live their lives as adults, in how I’ve impacted even a few people by rambling incoherently on these pages and the books. My legacy lives in how those people’s lives may touch others. My legacy won’t have monuments or markers, but I hope it will live in the hearts and actions of others.

Then again, there’s still all that living left to do, and who knows what the future holds? That’s part of the excitement of life. For now, I will go up on deck and enjoy the sunshine.