Yet another bit of time-wasting nonsense on Twitter is a program called Curious Cat. You can set it up so your followers can ask you questions, anonymously. Also, the program generates a Question of the Day. Usually, it’s something fairly generic and insipid, like what book changed your life, what’s your biggest fear, would you be a kid again if you could, blah blah blah. The other day, CC asked: “What do you want your legacy to be?”
I had to think about that. Who has legacies, anyway? People who accomplish great things? People who lead, who contribute, who create, who entertain. Who paint, build, compose music. Who invent things we can’t imagine living without once we have them, even though we did before. Who cure diseases. These are but a select few. Most of us shuffle into this life in obscurity and shuffle off the same way. As my father put it, life is but an entrance, an exit, and a lot of bullshit in between.
Legacies are often in families — those who have children, who pass their names and their experiences on to future generations. Not a possibility with me, as I did not have children. Perhaps legacies, then, for childless people, are how others remember them. If they made an impression — good, bad or otherwise.
It seems you don’t really get to find out what others think of you until you die. And then, unfortunately… well, you’re dead. You don’t get to know. So you live your life the best you can, and hope that overall, you’ve had a good impact. If you have an impact at all. If you mattered.
This is where I find myself separating Erica Scott and Erica [real name], which is silly, because they are one and the same. But I can’t help thinking that Erica Scott has made much more of an impression. Erica Scott put herself out there, exposed herself physically and emotionally. Erica Scott is on film and in writing. Erica [real name], on the other hand, has lived a very quiet and reserved life. No marriage, no kids, no grand career, no accomplishments to speak of (with the exception of a successful relationship). If you Google her, you don’t find anything.
So what indeed would be my legacy? How would I be remembered? So many possibilities.
- The expressive writer with so much to say, who filled countless journals and blogs, who self-published three books, but who spent most of her time perfecting other people’s writing.
- The depressive, glass-half-empty kind of girl, spending her days doing her best to dodge the abyss.
- The snarky, opinionated bitch.
- The woman who cried way too often, but when she laughed, you could hear her in the next county.
- The empath who listened, who cared, who felt the pain with others.
- The introverted recluse who hated the phone and hated to travel.
- The survivor.
- The mercurial, moody, maddening and often misunderstood woman who people either loved or couldn’t fucking stand.
- The woman with the peanut brittle exterior and the marshmallow heart.
- The contradiction: Cynical, yet still hopeful. Bitter and sweet. Sarcastic and compassionate. Cussed like a sailor, but had an almost pathological revulsion toward the c-word. Independent and autonomous to a fault, yet hungrily craving attention and validation.
- And yes, the woman who broke all the rules in the fetish world, starting to act in spanking videos at an age where most bottoms are long retired — and continuing to do so for eighteen years. Who got into the scene late and made up for lost time in every possible way.
A segue at this point: One more stupid trend circulating the interwebs lately is the Ten Year Photo Challenge. People are posting two pictures of themselves, side by side, the pictures being ten years apart. Yeah, this is fun… if you’re like 15 to 25. Or 25-35. Or even a youthful 35-45. Anything past that is just a public, pictorial announcement: “Hey! Look how I’ve aged!” Fucking depressing.
So the other day on Facebook, I casually commented that I wouldn’t be doing this challenge, because I didn’t need another reason to feel bad about myself. Then, someone who I suppose thought this was helpful, commented to me, launching into a lengthy, rambling lecture about how we need to embrace the various stages of life, that we have to choose to be happy. (Excuse me, but if one more person says that latter thing to me, I’m going to explode into a million pieces.) That I should find another avenues, like volunteering. And she ended it with “Your [sic] worth more than some tacky films.”
Um… excuse me?
Yeah, I know. Spanking videos are hardly classic film. They ain’t Shakespeare. And I’m not naive — I know they’re mostly used for wank fodder.
But to me, they represented freedom. They represented my expressing a part of myself that I kept stifled for years and years. They were some of the best times of my life. Despite the fact that I was performing, I was often my most real, authentic and joyous self doing those tacky films.
I have had women write to me over the years, telling me I inspired them to explore their own kinks. I think they saw me and thought, “Hey, look at her. She’s not twenty. She’s not conventionally pretty. But she’s doing this. She’s got the guts to be who she is.” In this way, I touched lives, perhaps more than any other way. If that’s tacky, then so be it.
So, back to the legacy thing. I guess we all end up being remembered, within our own circles, by a hodgepodge of things. I think the following captures my own little personal hodgepodge concisely and with my signature sardonic humor:
Here lies Erica [real name], AKA Erica Scott.
Tongue was often too sharp.
Heart was often too soft.
Ass was just right.
Have a great weekend, y’all.