Rome held more than twenty bronze equestrian statues of emperors and generals. Nearly all of them were melted down into church bells and coins; bronze was too valuable to leave standing as a statue. One escaped: that of Marcus Aurelius, and it did so because in the Middle Ages people took it for Constantine, the first Christian emperor. Under that wrong name it kept standing, for centuries, until Michelangelo gave it a place on the Capitoline Hill in 1538. It became the model for nearly every equestrian statue in European art. Of the philosopher who wrote that fame is dust, the statue alone still stands, thanks to a mistake.
What remains of you is decided by people you never met, for reasons that have nothing to do with you.
Remembrance, fame and which bronze would survive: the textbook example of what is not yours, and Marcus wrote as much himself in his tent. What was his were the notes he made without an audience. Chance preserved the statue; the contents of his head survived by an entirely different route, namely because somebody read him.
Where are you working on a legacy you do not control? And what would you do today if you knew nobody would remember it?
Yours, Not Yours · A Stoic practice ground · All cases