The legacy most people actually leave is how their family talks about them at dinner.

Legacy gets imagined as something public, and for almost everybody it turns out to be domestic: whether people are glad to talk about you, which stories get repeated, whether your name comes up warmly. That is decided by ordinary conduct over decades rather than by achievements. It is also the version that lasts, since it gets carried on by people who were there.

Think of one relationship that will still matter in twenty years, and do something small for it this week: a call, a visit, a message about nothing. Those accumulate quietly, and there is no later point at which starting gets easier.