It's been 92 years. Ninety two years and I have accomplished more than some, less than others and I can't help but think I didn't quite understand the project. I wracked my mind throughout the years trying to grasp the _meaning, the purpose, the point. _Yet here I sit in my brown upholstered recliner, in the home I spent most of my adult years, quilted blanket wrapped around my frail legs and I wonder "Did I ever get this right?".

Perhaps the point wasn't about right or wrong after all. Perhaps the point was just to live and to love and to pass each level with a semblance of sanity. I didn't quite get the latter part either.

Or, perhaps it was to fulfill the highest of achievements. A famous artist. A brilliant scientist. A scholar. The truth is, as I ponder these questions after completing the majority of my life, I realize it doesn't really matter. Am I welcomed into the afterlife based on awards or prizes? Or will I remain a nothingness in the vast universe. The one thing I have come to realize as I completed each level of my life, I contemplated these questions time and time again and never got the answer. So maybe it's time to stop asking.