What will be left of me when my body has turned to dust?
I’ve been thinking about this lately. I’m not being morbid. I expect to be around for decades to come. But I’ve felt a growing sense of unease in the last few years — a sense that I’m running out of time to start work on the things I was put on this planet to do.
I’m feeling a sense of urgency to do a lot of things that matter to me — things I never realized until now would matter so much. I think that’s why I feel so driven to write as much as I’ve been writing for the last year.
I’ve realized in the last year or so how much I need to make art that will survive me. It’s not so I’ll be famous, though. It’s not about making a lot of money or achieving some flashy success. It has nothing to do with success or money or fame.
It’s about being able to do some work that might matter to someone else after I’m gone. It’s about being able to make human lives — at least a few of them — more peaceful and joyful and loving.
I want the chance to reach out to people from beyond the grave one day and say, “See this? I made it. This contains what I needed to tell you. I think these ideas can change you and help you live a better life. These things are important to me and I hope they’ll be important to you.”
The clock is ticking for me.

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