Legacy in real time
What we build, what we pass on, and the spaces we shape along the way.
Originally published on LinkedIn, this piece has been updated with reflections from the annual grant celebration that took place this week.
Last week, I attended an event with my daughter where kids of all ages came together to explore what it means to give with intention and heart. They learned about Impact 100 Seattle's four finalist organizations, worked in small groups to understand each nonprofit's mission, and shared their votes after thoughtful discussion. Just days later, we gathered again for the annual celebration where those votes culminated in grant announcements, watching as intention became impact in real time.
It was important for us to have our daughter at the event as I truly believe it's never too early to involve the next generation in giving, and to show them that real impact isn't just about writing a check. It's about understanding where change starts and why it matters.
It made me think about what we pass on and how early those lessons can take root. I hope what they took away stays with them, and maybe even shapes how they choose to show up for others. Generosity begins with awareness, not ego. Service is a responsibility. Helping others can shape a life with more purpose than any achievement ever could.
Legacy takes shape in moments like this—while we're doing the work, not after it's done.
Rethinking What Legacy Looks Like
Legacy is often framed in the past tense. A summary of what someone accomplished, a highlight reel, or a closing chapter. But I've come to see it differently. Legacy isn't something we archive. It's something we shape through how we live, often long before anyone calls it that.
Much of this was modeled by my parents. We didn't grow up thinking of giving as charity or obligation. It was simply part of being human. It's woven into how they live and lead, through a lifelong commitment to expanding access to education and showing up for others, quietly and without expectation.
That shaped my understanding of what it means to give. It wasn't performative or done for recognition. It was about showing up for others, with no expectation of receiving anything in return. That was just how you moved through the world if you could help.
Legacy shows up in how we include others, the values we carry forward when no one's watching, and the choices we make to create access, not because we have to but because we believe it matters.
For me, it lives in relationships and the spaces we choose to hold. It's not about scale. It's about intention. Who we trust with the work. Who we share power with. Which systems we're willing to reimagine—so others can thrive without needing to ask permission.
What Giving Has Taught Me About Trust
Across cultures and communities, giving takes many forms. But again and again, I've seen that it works best when it's built on trust. Whether it's showing up for a neighbor, supporting a grassroots group, or funding a nonprofit, the most meaningful giving starts from relationship, not control.
There's been a growing shift toward trust-based philanthropy, a model that removes unnecessary hoops and centers the wisdom of community leaders. It's not new, but it's been newly named in ways that challenge traditional power structures and call funders to shift their role.
The premise is simple: those closest to the work should be trusted to lead it.
That might look like removing rigid application processes, offering flexible funding, and having real conversations instead of performative check-ins. It also means funders stepping back. Listening more. Dictating less.
But simple doesn't mean easy. This approach requires letting go of control. It asks us to believe that impact is more than what can be measured. That relationships and lived experience are forms of expertise too.
While working alongside Impact 100 Seattle, and through conversations with community organizers, nonprofit leaders, and others across different parts of the world, I've seen how trust shifts the dynamic. It opens space for honesty. It strengthens the work because people feel trusted—not made to explain their worth.
Bridging Worlds, Carrying Stories
This perspective on legacy as something relational, with trust as a foundation, didn't come solely from my nonprofit work. It's been shaped by a lifetime of navigating in-between spaces.
As a third culture kid, I learned early that identity and belonging don't always arrive neatly. I've moved through different languages and geographies, and navigated social expectations that didn't always fit. What grounded me was connection. People who made space and systems that flexed instead of fractured.
That same ethos carries into my storytelling work. I've interviewed people who build bridges where none existed, across cultures and generations, between what they inherited and what they hope to leave behind. Their stories remind me: legacy isn't individual. It's communal. It's layered. And it often begins in small, consistent ways—like mentoring, translating, or simply showing up.
What We Pass On
Watching those kids last week, I wasn't thinking about outcomes. I was thinking about what gets carried.
At this week's annual celebration, I watched as those thoughtful discussions from the kids' event translated into real funding for organizations doing transformative work. There was something profound about witnessing that full cycle—from young people asking questions about impact to resources actually flowing to communities that need them. It reinforced how legacy lives in those connecting moments between intention and action.
Not all of them will remember the organizations we introduced. But maybe they'll remember how it felt to be welcomed. That early glimpse into generosity—rooted in trust, not ego—might be something they carry forward.
Legacy isn't reserved for the end. It's shaped in the middle. And if we're paying attention, we'll see it in how we build trust, the stories we share, and the room we make for others to lead.
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