I’ve been turning over this question of legacy for a long time. And while it might be the kind of thing we usually get around to in middle age, it’s been on my mind for at least 15 years. Maybe that’s why I’ve collected the quirks and flaws I have. But legacy has a grip on me—what it means to leave something meaningful, something that won’t be lost in the noise of the world we’re building.

Sometimes, I wonder if humanity itself was a mistake. Our obsession with personalities, with the larger-than-life figures who polarize and lead us to shred each other in the name of their ambitions—it feels relentless. If this is the rule of the day, I can’t help but ask: what are we telling our children? And what are we leaving behind for their children? What story are we writing in the history books for the ones who will only know us through the mistakes we failed to undo?

I’m worried about the future. It feels like we’re all anxious, especially as we head into another U.S. election. The tension is as thick as it’s ever been, and the real irony is that we’re all afraid of what will happen no matter the outcome. Fear has already overshadowed the results—it’s become the lead character in the story of our democracy. And if fear has taken center stage, I wonder what kind of world we’re building when it’s the primary voice we hear.

Election Day is around the corner, and the weight of it feels exhausting. I’m tired of trying to read the chess moves of entire nations, tired of watching leaders bend to please others with power, while the rest of us hold our breath and hope we’re not next on the board.