What do I hope I had done before I died?

Should I have been taller? Longer? Thinner and buff? A whiter smile, a thicker wallet? More patience, more control, less fear? Should I have ventured into the pure release of faith? Did I care enough? Did I emit enough love, as much as I received? Should I have regretted my cruelty, my selfishness, my crass impatience, my humanity? Should I have had more style, more grace? Jumped further, landed more softly, sung my songs more clearly, wrote my poems for a more complacent crowd? Should I have danced the way the world taught me to dance? Should I have shed my armor, showed every cell of my heart? Should I have quit smoking sooner, switched to only one glass of white wine a night? Should I have been an Odysseus who rubbed Penelope's feet more often? Did I read enough, talk too much? Why didn't I dream more, and live them? Am I good? At my core, will I be good when I go? Did I try hard enough?

Did I fail? Did I try? Did I try before I died? Do people tell you that they like how hard you try? Goals seem to be to succeed; what if you failed failed failed, but never stopped trying, does that count, does that count?

Did I have faith in me? Is it faith that matters, if it only faith in me -- and in the end it only matters to me? What is it to die faithful to the core when no one know it before your last breath?

What do I hope to have done before I died? I hope I'll be remembered for one thing; I hope it is remembered that I tried.

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