Waking up to life by embracing the fear of death.
Respecting our one chance to be alive leaves no excuses.
“Wake up! If you knew for certain that you had a terminal illness — if you had precious little time left to make use of your life and consider who you are, you’d not waste time on self-indulgence or fear, lethargy or ambition. Be happy now, without reason — or you never will be at all.” ~ Dan Millman, Way of the Peaceful Warrior
I struggle with mortality.
My entire life, I have struggled with the concept of death, of life. As a young child, it terrified me. The memories are so vivid. Laying in bed, wide awake, desperately trying to understand my own consciousness.
I was trying to understand the fact that I was alive — that I could perceive the world around me; I could see, hear, smell, taste. I could breathe; I could enjoy.
It scared me to know that there would come a day in which I would be unable to do all of these things. The world would still exist, but I would not. This absolutely terrified me.
And it was mind-boggling to me that no-one else was terrified of this inevitable truth. Why was I the only one who seemed to be aware of this awful and undeniable reality? I felt — and many times, still feel — so alone. Scared. Lonely with that fear.
It wasn’t the moment of death that scared me, although that thought is never pleasant. It was the idea that all of this around me continues to exist — forever.
The world is alive, all around me, but at some point, I will no longer be here to take part. As I saw it, I would be forever banned from the party. And there’s no coming back.
And it was mind-boggling to me that no-one else seemed to be terrified of this inevitable truth. I felt — and many times, still feel — alone. Scared. Lonely with that fear.
What really struck me was the thought of time continuing indefinitely. Infinity. Not only would I be dead for the next hundred years, I’d be dead for a thousand years. I’d be dead one million years from now, trapped in the darkness of non-awareness. A billion years from now. A trillion years from now — still dead. I am never coming back.
This terrified me — and it still does. When I indulge in it, it can shake me to my core. But there is magic within it. Magic within the fear. Used properly, all of life becomes wonderful, now.
As a child, I would think of a date, hundreds of years in the future, and imagine humans being alive, just like I am right now — looking, seeing, taking in everything around them, living with history books about all the people who came before them, including the people who live right now. Books about people long gone. Books about us.
I’d begin to panic at the fact that there will inevitably come a time when every single person on this earth today will be gone. Those words haunt me even as I write them: every single person, gone from this earth.
We will be entirely replaced by other people. We will only be figments of their imagination. They’ll know we lived, from a cognitive perspective, as we now imagine Abraham Lincoln. Our lives will be reduced to a concept inside the brain of another human being — if remembered at all. That’s it.
I would bet most people — if not all — spend their time concerned with the center of their universe — themselves. And I don’t think there’s anything inherently wrong with that. We must take care of ourselves first, before we can take care of others. It would be impossible to do any different.
We will be entirely replaced by other people. We will only be figments of their imagination.
But as we now languish in the primary focus of our lives: our own experience and all that it entails, the figures of history are simply a figment of our imagination. They existed, and now they are gone.
To put it blunt: They are dead. They will never return. Their window of awareness has closed. And one day, you will die. I will die. And neither of us will ever return to this earth.
We may live on in another form. We may go to heaven, or we may transfer energy to other living things — or the lights may just go out. But one thing is certain: our present lives and present awareness will come to an end. The world will continue without us, and we won’t be able to participate.
I spent years trying to avoid these thoughts. So much of my life has been spent seeking distraction from this haunting truth. And the attempts were futile; the thought of the inevitable outcome would always return.
But something magical happened when I finally decided to embrace it.
Instead of running from it and hiding from it, I decided to try to accept it and let it guide me. From this decision, some interesting thoughts began to form. A greater awareness. Freedom.
I have only one chance to do this thing called life. One opportunity.
True liberty begins with this thought, this contemplation. As those who came before me are gone forever, so are the petty dramas and insecurities they held so close. All the worries, all the self-judgments; they too are gone. I imagine how much energy and time was wasted in those mental efforts. Needless. Worthless. Pointless. And therein lies the freedom from my own.
To free myself from my own petty dramas and insecurities, I remind myself of what is undeniable.
I picture the timeline of the universe, going off in both directions — past and future — without any end on either side. In the middle of that timeline, I can see two points, very close together. The first is the date of my birth and the second, the date of my death. On both sides of that tiny little window is darkness.
But something magical happened when I finally decided to embrace it. Instead of running from it and hiding from it, I decided to accept it and decide to let it guide me. And some interesting thoughts began to form.
I remind myself that the entire timeline — except for that window — represents darkness. It is the lack of my awareness. It represents all the days I will not be here to take this all in. Almost infinite is the lack of ability to see, hear and feel the world around me. And then I focus on those two points.
The sliver in between? That’s my life. That is my one chance to be alive, to experience this. I am awake right now. You are awake, right now.
This very second that I write these words, I am on that timeline and I am living within that tiny window. Like you. We are both between the two points. We are actually here, now — alive and awake, with the ability to perceive the world around us. We both have time left.
Consider that beautiful coincidence: you and I live together, now. We share the same window within that eternal timeline. When you compare the enormity of time itself with the tiny blip that represents our life, it is incredible to consider the other lives ongoing. We share our magical moment of awareness at the exact same time.
As much as these thoughts overwhelm me, allowing and embracing them instantly and violently wakes me up. Clarity is immediate. I can focus only on what matters. All the trivial nonsense and dramas of life appear as they are: insignificant and wasteful. Like waking from a bad dream, I am suddenly free from the noise of the mind.
So I welcome the contemplation of my existence — that very small window within an enormous timeline — as incredibly empowering and amazing. It is actually happening. My time is now. I get to live today.
It is actually happening. My time is now. I get to live today.
And as I look around at other people, I realize the same: they are living their moment. This is their one chance to be on stage. This is their one opportunity to be alive, to perceive, to feel excitement, to feel embarrassment, to feel love. All that comes with life.
I must respect that. As I want other people to respect my life — this singular and extraordinarily small window of time that I get to be alive — I must respect another person’s opportunity to live. That is what I owe the world around me.
I have no excuse. I simply have no excuses once I recognize this truth. I understand the value of this one life, and I cannot fail to recognize the value in the lives of the people around me. I cannot fail to recognize the value of all lives that are currently in progress. I must demand of myself the recognition of other’s valuable time as much as I demand they respect the value of mine.
As I want other people to respect my life — this singular and extraordinarily small window of time that I get to be alive — I must respect another person’s opportunity to live. That is what I owe the world around me.
We are all going to die. Opinions and beliefs differ as to what happens at that point, but I assume whatever happens, it will be the same for all people. And we can all agree on one point: our consciousness and awareness will change quite a bit, whatever awaits us.
If we can all agree on that, we can all recognize the value of this existence right now.
Humor me for a second. Stop reading this and look around you. Take a slow, deep breath and take it all in for a minute. Just consider the fact that the awareness you have at this very moment will be gone, forever.
Once that sets in, you have to feel a sense of urgency. You’re on the clock. Your time is now. Wake up.
Make the most of this opportunity. And while you live with eyes open, make a resolution to respect the life-time of others. Whether you know them or not, whether you like them or not. Perhaps as we make efforts to respect other’s life-time, we‘ll practice more self-respect of our own time.
It’s not easy being human. Times can get tough. But staying distracted from your own mortality is not going to give you the best possible version of yourself, the best possible version of your life story, or the best possible use of this beautiful opportunity to be alive.
Just consider the fact that the awareness you have at this very moment will be gone, forever. Once that sets in, you have to feel a sense of urgency. You’re on the clock. Your time is now. Wake up.
Before you move back into the portion of the universal timeline that is eternal darkness to this earth, in this form, wake up and realize what beautiful opportunity lay before you. This is it. Live without shame, live without fear of what others may opine, and live with an equal respect for other’s limited time.
One of the greatest callings in life is the alleviation of suffering for another human being.
Perhaps the simple promise to wake up to life itself can ease the suffering of others, as it forces you to respect their time on earth. And that respect can morph into unbelievably powerful interactions in the effort to assist another as they live their own time left.
There is no contradiction in living out your minutes completely absorbed in squeezing the most from life for yourself while you simultaneously seek to ease the suffering of others.
You get to live today. Wake up to this life before it’s too late and you can’t wake up to it. Make the best effort to enjoy and value this life, happening right now. And make a resolution to respect the life-time of everyone else. Unless someone threatens to take your life, or threatens to dramatically impact the quality of your opportunity, you owe that respect to others as you demand it for yourself.
Before you move back into the portion of the universal timeline that — for you — is eternal darkness to this earth, in this form, wake up and realize what you have before you. This is it. Live without shame, live without fear of what others may opine, but live with an equal respect for other’s limited time as you live respecting your own life-time.
As Robin Williams’ character performed this quote in Dead Poet’s Society, I will end my existential stream of thought with his words:
“We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, law, business, engineering — these are noble pursuits. And necessary to sustain life.
“But poetry, beauty, romance, love — these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman:
‘Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,
The question, O me! so sad, recurring — What good amid these, O me, O life?
Answer: That you are here — that life exists
and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.’
“That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?”
