The arts might be great for inspiration, but Sartre had it wrong.
Over the last 12 months two of my partner’s brothers died. One in September 2024, the other in August 2025 (as in, last month). In both cases, my partner was in charge of the administration of their estates. These were her two favorite siblings, flawed in their own ways like any human, but ultimately good, funny, caring people. It was very difficult to do the necessary administrative work, take all the phone calls from well-meaning gossipmongers, fend off avaricious behaviors from the other siblings, and still have time to sit and grieve.
This is not about the two brothers or my partner. This is about you.
No matter what, you have no legacy with the organization with which you work, even if you’ve worked there for twenty years. Your legacy there ends the day you leave. Or die.
It has to.
I Died This Morning
I was an energetic, charismatic, visionary leader.
I worked at least 60 hours a week.
The office is by turns chaotic and paralyzed.
Some are crying.
Some are ecstatic.
Outside the charity, most don’t care.
Not their problem.
Trustees are panicking. Staff members are traumatized.
Some are taking charge, Alexander Haig-style.
Others are forming committees to decide what to decide.
Still others are composing resignations.
Reporter on line 1.
I knew every board and staff member.
And their families.
I knew every major donor.
I knew local foundation leaders.
Benefactors on line 2.
Beneficiaries on line 3.
I knew financials.
I knew history.
I had passwords.
Vendors on line 4.
I knew where everything was.
I shared that information.
But that was 5 years ago.
To employees who are no longer here.
Too bad there wasn’t a written succession policy.
Not my problem.
(And yes, your company should have a fully fleshed-out, WRITTEN DOWN succession policy.)
Your arts organization has to be run by the people who are there right now. For those who have retired, avoid granting “emeritus” status. No board membership. No committee membership. Retired is retired. Let them go (that goes for both sides). Place a call on rare occasion for advice, but do not, by any means, put a retired person’s name on anything. It’s not fair to the ones who are still there. Or worse, newly there.
Have people. Every bit of media, every product on the market, every technological breakthrough — in short, everything around you making noise — has the goal of making you feel independently resourceful. That’s the nice way of putting it. What’s the real goal? To separate you and make you buy more stuff to replace people in your life. We wrote about “The Phantom Effect” back in 2022 and the key elements still apply.
Would you really choose to have no friends whatsover? Why? Because you’re a big fan of Sartre?
“L’enfer, c’est les autres.” (“Hell is other people.”)
Huis Clos (No Exit), Jean-Paul Sartre
How many times have you told a colleague, friend, or frankly, anyone, that you’re “too busy?” Stop it. Stop being “too busy.” You’re not that important to be “too busy.” No one is. If you are the kind of person who answers even the most banal question (“How are you?”) with some form of “Too busy,” you’re blowing it. Here’s why people say they’re “too busy:”
They feel superior because “busy,” to them, is the opposite of “insignificant.” They believe that taking days to enjoy life is not what days off are for; that would be the sign of being unnecessary. They measure who they are by what they accomplish, not by their own values and ideas. They make sure they don’t have enough time for exploring relationships because new ideas that aren’t theirs don’t work.
In short, if you’ve made yourself too busy, people will stop caring how you are. Bad idea.
Have you decided that your phone is the only friend you need? Just scroll and swipe and click and scroll some more? Is that all you want?
People are generally not here to torture you, just as you are not here to torture them. Stuff, accomplishments, awards, and photos? All meaningless. Good fodder for stories, sure, but really they’re just pieces of metal and fancy paper. You need people.
The only thing that matters in the end is other people and, if you’re really lucky, love. Everything else is bunting on the balcony.
Write it down. If you have not written a will, write one. If you’re worried about the cost, you can go to www.freewill.com. If you’re more worried about time than funds, make an appointment with an estate attorney. Pronto. Now. Immediately. If you don’t, you’ll cause unnecessary stress and family wars, both in the living room and the courtroom.
Oh, and remember to sign it and have it notarized.
If you’re of a mind that you have nothing to leave and believe that, therefore, a will is not necessary, you’re wrong. Do the process and you’ll find things will be clearer for your progeny and your people. It’s easy. Takes 20 minutes or so and you’re done.
Oh, and if you’re creeped out by the idea of writing a will because it makes you aware of the fact that you’re going to die (this is a surprise?), put your big-person pants on and just do it. Tuck it away in a file where other people know where to find it.
Have people and write things down. Simple advice. If you want to leave a legacy, it’s not made of brick and mortar; it’s made of the lives of the people you leave behind.
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