How do I know if my work will actually matter after I'm gone?

Rabia al-Adawiyya didn't ask for permission or proof before pouring her whole self into devotion. She loved because love was the work—not because she needed reassurance it would echo. Here's what I've noticed: the work that lasts isn't the loudest or most documented. It's the kind that changes how someone thinks, feels, or treats others. A teacher's influence lives in their students' choices. A craftsperson's care shows up in how someone else learns to care. A parent's presence shapes a child's capacity for belonging. You won't always see it. That's not a bug—that's the whole point. When you stop needing recognition to justify the effort, you're already doing legacy work. The question isn't whether it will matter. It's whether you can commit to it mattering to *you*, regardless. Start there. Document what you can—not for proof, but for clarity. Write down what you've learned. Teach someone. Leave your methods, your mistakes, your reasons. Then let go of the ending. Legacy isn't about control. It's about trust.