How will people remember you when you are gone? And for how long until they forget? Were you selfish or selfless? A gossip or a patient listener? Did you add value to the world, or did you simply take from it? Did you add significance to the lives of others, or were you a constant drain? Were you a plus or negative? Meaningful or meaningless? Someone even worth remembering?
It's the same struggle for each of us, and the same path out: the utterly simple, infinitely wise ultimately defiant act of loving one thing and then another, loving our way back to life. Maybe being perfectly happy is not really the point. Maybe that is only some modern dream of the point, while the truer measure of humanity is the distance we must travel in our lives, time and again, twist two extremes of passion - joy and grief. However much I've lost, what remains to me is that I can still speak to name the things I love.
