Write Your Eulogy — What Will Be Said When You're Gone?

If the title of this article didn't grab you, nothing will.

Yes, I want you to write your eulogy — or at least write what you think might be said about you.

And then I want you to tell me if you're satisfied with the words that will be read when you're not around.

We have a limited time here; we have to make it count. It's easy to take everything for granted — the people, the connections, the frustrating moments, the great moments, and everything in between. It's also easy to get caught up in a whole bunch of stuff that just doesn't matter.

I've spent the last twenty years leading and growing sales organizations. I've been responsible for millions, and even at one point billions worth of dollars on paper for companies. While my job description said I was leading sales, in reality, I was leading people. There have been many frustrating moments along the way — days where you feel like you suck, and of course many days where you feel somewhat invincible. But I've always repeated this same thought to the people around me:

"At my funeral, nobody is going to remember I was responsible for revenue. Nobody is going to care how many zeros I made for a company, how many widgets we sold, or how many customers we converted. The only thing that is going to matter is the people I made an impact on, the lives I hoped to have changed, supported, or made a difference in."

As you think about your own career legacy and your personal legacy, it's important to start to consider if everything is aligning the way you want it to. Are you living for the goals you have in mind? Are you making the impact you set out to? Will people remember the good you tried to instill in others, or will there be a different legacy discussed that day?

Most people don't stop long enough to ask themselves these questions. They keep their heads down, focused on promotions, next steps, quarterly targets, and external achievements that look great on LinkedIn but don't actually move the needle on who they're becoming.

It's not because they're shallow; it's because our systems reward output over introspection. But legacy isn't built on metrics. It's built on meaning. And if you're not clear on what matters most to you, someone else will define it for you.

I've sat in enough performance reviews, exit interviews, and late-night conversations to know that the things people regret are rarely about missed goals or failed projects. The regrets almost always come from not speaking up, not chasing what they really wanted, or staying too long in a place that drained them.

Legacy doesn't wait for retirement. It starts forming every time you choose values over optics, courage over comfort, and people over performance.

So when I ask you to write your eulogy, I'm not trying to be morbid. I'm trying to shake something loose. Because if the words you picture being read don't reflect the life you're currently living, you have two choices: keep pretending it'll somehow magically course-correct, or get real about what needs to change.

Your reputation might be shaped by others, but your legacy is built by you.

That means you don't have to wait for the perfect timing. You can start today. You can send that message. You can take that risk. You can lead differently. Your legacy starts with small, consistent decisions to live in alignment with what actually matters to you — not what looks good in a highlight reel.

What would be said about you right now? Would people talk about your titles or your generosity? Would they mention your impact, or just your LinkedIn accomplishments? Would your name spark warmth, or just a bullet point?

You get to decide that. You get to write that story. Not when the timing is perfect — right now, in the middle of your messy, unfinished, still-evolving story.

So what's it going to be?