Before I Die: Story

I never expected Before I Die to go beyond my neighborhood. I created the first wall on an abandoned house near my home 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. Her sudden death sent me into a long period of grief and depression. I grew up secular and felt a shocking lack of instruction or ritual in my life. Everything felt absurd. My inner world felt like it didn't belong outside at all.

I lived a block away from this abandoned house that had been collecting dust and graffiti for years. It looked sadder than me, and it finally crossed my mind that it would break Joan's heart if she knew that her death made me give up. I wondered if I could do something to honor her and reflect on mortality.

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 anyone walking by could pick up a piece of chalk, reflect on death and life, and share their personal aspirations in public. In my mind it was just another 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.

The next day, the wall was entirely filled out and it kept growing.

Before I die I want to... get my wife back, overcome addiction, forgive my parents for their shortcomings, eat more everything, see a woman become president, be the man she believes I am, build a school, make a livable wage, see the leaves change many times, see him one more time, see what I'm like as an old man, evaporate into the light...

I saw my neighbors in a new light, and the wall became an honest mess of longing, fear, insecurity, gratitude, humor, pain, and grace. I remember the responses that resonated with me most were the heartbreaking ones, the devastating ones, the ones you wouldn’t typically tell a stranger. They made me feel less alone and gave me courage to face my own struggles. And it taught me the value of anonymity. When we anonymously share without fear of judgment or desire for recognition, what emerges looks profoundly different and more honest than performative digital forums.

This neglected space became a constructive one, and people who ordinarily had little to do with one another began taking care of it. People donated chalk. People helped me wash down the wall when it was completely full. Neighbors introduced themselves in front of the wall while reading through the day’s responses. The grandmother who lives across the street said, “People are around all the time. The block is safer now.” 

There were a handful of wise-ass comments. The world will always have boys who want to draw dicks in public space, but people erased them—it’s chalk!—and they were profoundly eclipsed by thousands of sincere responses that made me feel close to my community in a way I never felt before. Introverts like me could share just as much as the extroverts. I also learned that when the wall begins with a few thoughtful responses, it can set the tone and the way others share.

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 enjoyed traveling everywhere from Almaty, Kazakhstan to Querétaro, Mexico to make walls with students, arts organizations, and residents. However, I couldn't keep up with the requests, and I quickly realized I wasn't needed. The beauty of the project is its simplicity.

So I made a step-by-step guide for anyone to make their own wall. 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’s been one of the greatest experiences of my life to see this little experiment grow into a global project, a kind of memento mori for the modern age. It’s easy to get caught up in the day-to-day. Contemplating death is the quickest way to crush the trivial, restore perspective, and redefine what’s meaningful to you at every age. People have asked if they can remix the project, and I say yes please feel free—ideas come from other ideas, so people have made all kinds of walls, including When I graduate I want to..., I love Heraklion because..., Happiness is..., I go downtown because..., Lebanon would be better if...

I am continuously inspired by everyone's walls - please email me photos! - and this project sparked my life-long interest in the future of ritual in public life. I crave shard spaces to commune over existential questions without the requirement of shared doctrine. It feels even more pressing as we grapple with epidemic loneliness, deepening polarization, online judgment, and the disembodiment that comes from living behind screens. How can we create emotional infrastructure that speaks to the pains of our age? It not only serves fundamental needs of the human spirit, it cultivates a sense of belonging, which is vital for civic life.

—Candy Chang