A book’s previous owner can disappear from every record except a name on the first page.

A single line of ink can outlast the entire administrative existence of a person. Everything else has expired, been deleted, or was never recorded, and what remains is a name written on a flyleaf by someone claiming a book they liked. That is a thin thread, and it is more than most people leave.

Let that adjust your idea of legacy downward, in a good way. What survives will probably be small, accidental, and unimpressive by the standards you use to measure your days. Which means the way to be remembered well is not to build a monument but to be decent in the small marks you leave on other people.