Dave Brisbin 12.28.25
Before he sails off to the Trojan war, Thetis tells her son Achilles that if he stays home, he will find peace. Will marry a wonderful woman and have children and grandchildren who will love him and remember his name. But when they are all dead, his name will be forgotten. If he goes to Troy, he will find such glory that his name will never be forgotten. But he will not come back, and his mother will never see him again.
Obviously, he went or we wouldn’t be talking about him. The world remembers those who do great things, leave a legacy of spectacularly big things. But such legacies always come at a price. Did Achilles make the right choice? Is the building of a legacy that lives beyond the generations we actually touch more important than what happens within them? Such choices are not binary, of course. If we’re consciously careful, we can have at least some elements of both.
But where do we find real meaning in life?
If all our focus is on not yet, imaginings of a great legacy, Solomon, traditional writer of Ecclesiastes has a Hebrew word for all our efforts: hevel. Vain, futile, meaningless, of no purpose or profit…chasing after the wind. After acquiring and accomplishing everything possible in a human lifetime, he writes, Meaningless! Everything is meaningless. Generations come and generations go…no one remembers the people of old, and even those yet to come will not be remembered by those who follow them. Sounds brutally depressing. Sounds like giving up, but it’s not.
It’s redirection.
Where do we find real meaning? In a legacy the world remembers even as we, the builders, are forgotten? Something more immediate? The question places us right at the crux of life. Solomon realizes that there is nothing better than for us to be glad and do good while life is in us, take our food and drink and have joy in our work. He’s saying all that matters is contained in this moment and nowhere else. Even if we work to build a lasting legacy, if we’re immersed in the joy of the work itself and those with us, we find meaning. Because in the end, the only legacy that matters is a legacy of little things.
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Dave Brisbin 12.28.25
Before he sails off to the Trojan war, Thetis tells her son Achilles that if he stays home, he will find peace. Will marry a wonderful woman and have children and grandchildren who will love him and remember his name. But when they are all dead, his name will be forgotten. If he goes to Troy, he will find such glory that his name will never be forgotten. But he will not come back, and his mother will never see him again.
Obviously, he went or we wouldn’t be talking about him. The world remembers those who do great things, leave a legacy of spectacularly big things. But such legacies always come at a price. Did Achilles make the right choice? Is the building of a legacy that lives beyond the generations we actually touch more important than what happens within them? Such choices are not binary, of course. If we’re consciously careful, we can have at least some elements of both.
But where do we find real meaning in life?
If all our focus is on not yet, imaginings of a great legacy, Solomon, traditional writer of Ecclesiastes has a Hebrew word for all our efforts: hevel. Vain, futile, meaningless, of no purpose or profit…chasing after the wind. After acquiring and accomplishing everything possible in a human lifetime, he writes, Meaningless! Everything is meaningless. Generations come and generations go…no one remembers the people of old, and even those yet to come will not be remembered by those who follow them. Sounds brutally depressing. Sounds like giving up, but it’s not.
It’s redirection.
Where do we find real meaning? In a legacy the world remembers even as we, the builders, are forgotten? Something more immediate? The question places us right at the crux of life. Solomon realizes that there is nothing better than for us to be glad and do good while life is in us, take our food and drink and have joy in our work. He’s saying all that matters is contained in this moment and nowhere else. Even if we work to build a lasting legacy, if we’re immersed in the joy of the work itself and those with us, we find meaning. Because in the end, the only legacy that matters is a legacy of little things.
Dave Brisbin 9.7.25
How could we have known about the first week of September? My wife’s back pain had grown into numbness down her legs and feet, prompting an MRI, but still waiting for those results Tuesday morning, a feeling in my chest grew to what I could only imagine was a heart attack. Finally told Marian I needed to go to ER, and in the midst of endless cycles of testing and waiting, a text comes in telling her to go immediately to ER for emergency surgery. She didn’t even tell me until after I was discharged, no cause determined.
She wanted to wait one more day while I was still shaky—she’d waited this long after all. So Thursday morning, we drove to ER, and soon as the surgeon saw the images, scheduled surgery for that afternoon. If left any longer, she could lose all function below the waist. I waved goodbye, as they strapped her in the ambulance taking her to a surgical hospital, drove to meet her in preop, only to wave goodbye again as they rolled her off to OR. Would I see her again? Would she walk again? She smiled big, I smiled back, went off to wait out expected one-hour surgery. One hour, two hours, no text, no call. Found a nurse.
She was just coming out of surgery. Back to waiting area. Phone vibrates, surgeon saying all was good, that she came out of anesthesia with the biggest smile that made his day. That he found a bone spur knifing right into her spine, saw the nerves relax as he pulled it out. If she was doing well enough, could be discharged the next day. I stayed in her room until ten, went home but heart symptoms returned, forced me to drive back to ER. Still dark. Both of us in hospitals at same time. What if they admitted me? Who’d bring her home, care for her?
We’re both home now, trying to heal, but those moments remain—a wave goodbye, a smile from a gurney—when a fragile reality appears, a wire frame view of life you can’t unsee. If we don’t turn away too soon, keep looking, there’s something underneath. Solid state, no moving parts, irreducible. The everything behind the nothing. Can’t hold on to such glimpses, but they can hold you. Remind you.
Change how you see everything else.
theeffect Podcasts
Dave Brisbin 12.28.25
Before he sails off to the Trojan war, Thetis tells her son Achilles that if he stays home, he will find peace. Will marry a wonderful woman and have children and grandchildren who will love him and remember his name. But when they are all dead, his name will be forgotten. If he goes to Troy, he will find such glory that his name will never be forgotten. But he will not come back, and his mother will never see him again.
Obviously, he went or we wouldn’t be talking about him. The world remembers those who do great things, leave a legacy of spectacularly big things. But such legacies always come at a price. Did Achilles make the right choice? Is the building of a legacy that lives beyond the generations we actually touch more important than what happens within them? Such choices are not binary, of course. If we’re consciously careful, we can have at least some elements of both.
But where do we find real meaning in life?
If all our focus is on not yet, imaginings of a great legacy, Solomon, traditional writer of Ecclesiastes has a Hebrew word for all our efforts: hevel. Vain, futile, meaningless, of no purpose or profit…chasing after the wind. After acquiring and accomplishing everything possible in a human lifetime, he writes, Meaningless! Everything is meaningless. Generations come and generations go…no one remembers the people of old, and even those yet to come will not be remembered by those who follow them. Sounds brutally depressing. Sounds like giving up, but it’s not.
It’s redirection.
Where do we find real meaning? In a legacy the world remembers even as we, the builders, are forgotten? Something more immediate? The question places us right at the crux of life. Solomon realizes that there is nothing better than for us to be glad and do good while life is in us, take our food and drink and have joy in our work. He’s saying all that matters is contained in this moment and nowhere else. Even if we work to build a lasting legacy, if we’re immersed in the joy of the work itself and those with us, we find meaning. Because in the end, the only legacy that matters is a legacy of little things.
