A few weeks ago, I found myself in one of those conversations that stick with you long after the words have been spoken. I was talking with a startup founder about his company, his vision, and the relentless drive that keeps entrepreneurs going through the inevitable ups and downs. But then out of the blue, he asked me something that caught me completely off guard: “What do you want to be remembered for?” He paused, then restated it more directly: “What would your legacy be?”

I’ll be honest — I stumbled over my response. In fact, I laughed it off at first, joking that I was too young to be thinking about legacies. After all, I still have a lot of fight left in me, and retirement feels like a distant concept that I will cross when I hit seventy. We both chuckled at my deflection, but his question lingered. Days passed and I found myself returning to those questions again and again: What do I want to be remembered for? And perhaps more fundamentally, do I even want to be remembered at all?

When I was younger, I was obsessed with building what we now call a “personal brand.” I carefully crafted my LinkedIn profile, polished my resume, and strategically shared and created content and blogs that would make me appealing to recruiters and dream companies. Every networking event, every presentation, every email signature was designed to create an impression that would stick. Looking back, I realize that was my early try at building something memorable — a professional legacy that would open doors and create opportunities.

But now, having reached the milestone of fifty and settled into my role as a senior leader , that entrepreneur’s question takes on a different weight. The urgency of impressing potential employers has faded, replaced by something deeper. The question of legacy is no longer about career advancement — I think it is about meaning. It is about what remains when the business cards are thrown away and the LinkedIn profiles are forgotten.

This shift in perspective forced me into some serious soul-searching. I spent days thinking about the leaders and bosses I have admired, the colleagues I have respected, and the family members who have shaped who I am. What made them memorable was not their job titles or their achievements alone. What made them unforgettable was how they treated people and how they showed up in the world.

Through this reflection, I have arrived at an answer that feels both simple and profound, and meaningful to me:

I want to be remembered as someone who was kind and courageous.

I want to be remembered as someone kind enough to take the time to teach others what I know — however limited my knowledge may be — and courageous enough to admit when I do not have the answers. “I don’t know, but let’s find out together” has become one of my favorite phrases, and I hope it captures the spirit of this courage.

I want to be remembered as someone who treated others with genuine kindness and fairness, regardless of their position or what they could do for me. I want to be remembered as someone courageous enough to stay open to new ideas in my profession, even when it meant unlearning deeply held beliefs and comfortable assumptions.

Most importantly, though, I want to be remembered as a good tito — a good, kind uncle — to my nieces and nephews and grandchildren, and as a good brother to my sisters. These relationships matter more than any professional achievement. I do not need to build a unicorn startup or secure millions in funding to create something meaningful. That is really not my calling, and I have made peace with that long ago. It is enough for me to be remembered, for a time, as someone who was kind and courageous.

That is the legacy I am working toward, one conversation and one relationship at a time.

That’s it.