Before I Die reimagines how the walls of our cities can help us grapple with mortality and meaning as a community today—and I never expected it to go beyond my neighborhood. I created the first Before I Die wall in New Orleans after the death of someone I loved. Joan was like a mother to me for fifteen years and there were still so many things she wanted to do: learn to play the piano, live in France, see the Pacific Ocean. The shock of her death sent me into a long period of grief and depression. My inner world didn’t feel like it belonged outside at all, and I noticed how much we avoid talking about death.

With time I felt gratitude for the time we had together and I found clarity in my life by contemplating death so much, but I struggled to maintain this perspective. It’s easy to get caught up in the day-to-day and forget what really matters to you.

I lived a block away from an abandoned house that had been collecting dust and graffiti for years. I wondered if I could make it a nicer space for my neighborhood and make a tribute to Joan by creating a space to restore perspective. I made a homemade stencil that said, “Before I die I want to _____.” With help from old and new friends, I painted the side of this crumbling house with chalkboard paint and stenciled it with this prompt so that anyone walking by could pick up a piece of chalk, reflect on death and life, and share their personal aspirations in public.

It was all an experiment and I didn’t know what to expect. Because it was cheap to make, I thought it was no big deal if it didn’t work out.

By the next day, the wall was entirely filled and it kept growing: Before I die I want to… sing for millions, abandon all insecurities, get my wife back, eat all the carbs I want, hold her one more time, be completely myself. The gamut of humanity was on full display, and the wall became an honest mess of the longing, fear, insecurity, gratitude, humor, pain, and grace you find in every community. I saw how much I was not alone as I tried to make sense of my life, and the wall became in ice-breaker for meaningful conversations on death and emotional health. Seeing some private corner of your psyche reflected in someone else’s handwriting on a public wall can be incredibly reassuring on an individual level, and it’s a step towards seeing ourselves in one another.

Ten months later, the wall in New Orleans ended for happy reasons: a new owner bought the property and the house became a home again. But this wasn’t the end of the project—I received hundreds of messages from people around the world who wanted to make walls with their communities. I made resources and a step-by-step guide, and today, thanks to passionate people around the world, over 5,000 Before I Die walls have been created in over 75 countries and over 35 languages.

It has been one of the greatest experiences of my life to see this little experiment grow into a global project. I am continuously inspired by everyone’s walls, which have revealed just how much we are the same. From China to Iran, from Brazil to South Africa, the same themes emerge: We want to love and be loved. We want to do meaningful work. We want to travel the world. We want to see our loved ones thrive. We want to be at peace with ourselves. You can read many stories behind these walls in the Before I Die book.

Since the first Before I Die wall, I have become passionate about creating new rituals in public life. As the world has felt more distracting, more tribal, and more alienating, I often find myself feeding my worst habits and yearning for rituals to help restore perspective. This has led me to think about the future of ritual in public life—new ways we might find emotional communion with one another, to remember that we are all walking wounded and that our shared struggles and desires far outweigh our differences. If we continue to question what our public spaces can be, our built environment can offer profound moments of communion and kinship.