People like to think of their legacy—the lasting meaning of their lives—in terms of what they will leave behind when they die. But they think in terms of their wealth, their children, some book they wrote or art they made, a house or bridge they built or had built,  a library they endowed or a chair they carpentered, some good works or happy memories, 40 years on the job, a collection of birdhouses or teaspoons. They never think of their place in the landfill. Of all the garbage they left in their wake. But that's as much their "legacy" as anything else. More, really, than that other stuff; it's their trash that will be the most enduring evidence of their life on earth, that will have a more lasting impact on whatever future there may be. Each of us leaves behind as a memorial to our lives a monument of garbage. We are what we eat for a little while. We are what we throw away forever.