It’s Not Anxiety — It’s Anticipation

What Are You Feeling, Really?

We like to think of feelings as simple — clear, distinct, neatly named. Joy. Sadness. Gratitude. Anxiety. But emotions rarely show up one at a time, and almost never in tidy boxes. They overlap. They masquerade. They arrive in clusters — tangled, intertwined, and often confusing.

I remember telling my kids when they were young that sometimes, anticipation feels a lot like anxiety. Excitement can mimic nervousness. Grief can live right next to gratitude. And joy? Joy can bring tears that have nothing to do with sadness at all.

I’ve been thinking about these contradictions lately — how hard it can be to name what we’re feeling, especially when the moment matters.

Personally, I don’t get nervous speaking in front of a crowd (as I often say, I have many fears in life — but public speaking, thankfully, isn’t one of them). I do get nervous, though, when others are speaking publicly about me. Then, I turn red. My energy runs high. My mind races. My words tumble out. I talk (a little) too much. Is that anxiety? Excitement? Meaning? Probably all three.

Our bodies don’t always distinguish between nerves and readiness, between fear and anticipation. Sometimes, the very sensations we interpret as discomfort are actually signals that something important is happening — that we’re about to stretch, connect, grow.

And isn’t that the beauty — and the challenge — of feeling? To stand in a moment and not just label it, but listen to it. To ask: What is this really? What’s underneath?

Because emotions, in all their messiness, are often the truest evidence that something matters. That we care. That we’re alive.

And if feelings are how we know we’re alive, they may also be how we’re remembered.

We’ve all heard the adage attributed to Maya Angelou: “At the end of the day, people won’t remember what you said or did; they’ll remember how you made them feel.”

I believe that’s true. When people think of you — your presence, your generosity, your life’s work — they may not remember the specifics of what you said or did. But they’ll remember how they felt with you. Seen. Heard. Uplifted. Comforted. Challenged. Inspired.

These questions about emotion and memory naturally lead to questions about legacy.

I recently had the chance to explore this in depth on a podcast with my friend Jon Dwoskin where we discussed what legacy truly means. It’s not about waiting until the end of life, or about wealth or scale — it’s about how you treat people, where you choose to give, and how you align your actions with your values every day.

As I shared with Jon, a “good name” is one of your greatest assets. Kindness, integrity, and how you make others feel shape your legacy far more than any monument ever could.

And so I ask you: What do you want people to feel when they think of you?

Will your legacy evoke joy? Gratitude? A sense of possibility? Calm? Curiosity? Maybe it’s not one feeling, but a symphony — the layered harmony of a life fully lived, fully felt.

I’d love to hear your thoughts. How do you want your legacy to feel — and how can your philanthropy help you create it?

Moadim L’Simcha,

Kari