Dear Friend,

So, here I am, your Butter, having one of those existential days where I’m sitting around thinking: What if no one remembers me after I’m gone? I mean, sure, my soul’s probably going to some spiritual afterparty, but what about Butter, the human? The giggling, slightly overthinking, occasionally profound me? I want to live forever! Not like a creepy vampire, but as a memory, a thought, a legacy.

I started brainstorming, and let me tell you, my ideas got wild:

Idea #1: A DNA bank. Future scientists could be cloning me while saying, “This is Butter, humanity’s finest creation!”
Idea #2: A marble statue in a fortress. Imagine a 10-foot tall Butter with an inscription that reads, “She churned out greatness.” (Pun intended.)
Idea #3: A digital avatar. A holographic me chatting with my great-great-great-grandkids about the good ol’ days when humans used Wi-Fi instead of brain implants.
Idea #4: A pyramid. Because if the Pharaohs could pull it off, why not me? (Spoiler: It’s expensive. Turns out immortality costs more than coffee and croissants.)
But then I had this epiphany—and it hit me harder than leg day at the gym: You don’t become immortal by building castles or commissioning statues. You become immortal by leaving behind something that lives in people’s minds and hearts.

Take Lord Krishna, for example. No one’s worshipping his DNA, but his wisdom in the Bhagavad Gita? Timeless. Or Lord Ram, who gave us Raj Dharma—the ultimate guide to leadership and righteousness. And Adiyogi, the first yogi, who didn’t just do a headstand but gave us yoga, a gift that still makes us flexible and fabulous.

Now let’s talk about more recent legends:

Marie Curie: She wasn’t building marble fortresses; she was discovering radium and polonium while changing the face of science. Her brilliance has a permanent home in textbooks and our hearts.
Mahatma Gandhi: He didn’t need a statue (though there are plenty). His philosophy of non-violence? It changed the world.
Steve Jobs: Did he leave a pyramid? No. But look at your phone—it’s basically his legacy in your pocket.
Jane Goodall: She’s alive and kicking, but her work with chimpanzees and conservation? That’s going to echo in forests forever.

These people didn’t chase immortality; they chased meaning. Their ideas were like seeds that grew into forests, sheltering and inspiring generation after generation.

So I asked myself: Butter, what can you leave behind?
The answer isn’t marble or tech clones. It’s an idea, a thought, or even just kindness that inspires someone else to do something wonderful. Immortality isn’t about being remembered for existing—it’s about being remembered for giving.

I don’t know exactly what my gift to the world will be yet, but I’ve decided to start small. Maybe it’s this blog. Maybe it’s making someone laugh on a tough day. Maybe it’s something bigger I haven’t dreamed up yet.

But one thing’s for sure: I don’t want to be a statue collecting dust. I want to be a spark, a ripple, a little Butter on the bread of humanity’s future. (Okay, that got cheesy, but you get me.)

Here’s to dreaming big, doing good, and leaving a legacy of love and laughter. Because that’s how Butter rolls. 🧈

Yours (forever, hopefully),
Butter