How do I know what really matters when I'm facing my own mortality?

Rabia al-Adawiyya didn't wait for death to strip away the trivial—she did it by choice, through devotion so pure it burned away everything else. When you're confronted with your finitude, the same clarifying happens whether you choose it or not. The question isn't abstract anymore. You stop wondering if you should call your estranged sibling; you either do or you carry that weight. You stop planning the trip you'll take 'someday.' What matters becomes obvious in a way daylight can't hide. The ache in your chest when you think about someone, the thing you do that makes you forget time, the way you want to be remembered—these aren't small clues. They're the whole map. Mortality is teaching you right now. The gift is that you don't have to wait until you're dying to listen. You can ask the death question today: if this were my last year, my last month, what would I actually do differently? Then notice what you'd change. That's what matters. Not the answer—the willingness to ask.