A few months back, I found myself strolling through an amusement park with my partner, my siblings, and my brother-in-law. We were enjoying a kid-free vacation, reveling in the thrill of rides, indulging in junk food, and playfully casting spells at random strangers.
One evening, while we were laughing and soaking in the joyous atmosphere, the topic of death unexpectedly surfaced. I then shared that familiar sensation—when you’re just going about your day, and suddenly it strikes you: you will one day die. You know that feeling? It’s like your mind catches fire, and you can almost sense death’s icy grip creeping toward you.
Anyone else experience this? Just me? Oh, great.
About once a week—sometimes more, sometimes less—I’m reminded of my mortality. My heart races a bit, a reminder of the inevitable. And then there’s the thought that not only will I leave this world, but everyone I care about will too. A lump forms in my throat, and I feel that familiar discomfort. The idea that once those who knew me are gone, my existence fades as if it never happened. Graveyards around the globe are filled with unvisited graves, and that’s the fate awaiting us all.
This thought triggers a mild panic until I can distract myself—usually with a catchy song or some pop culture reference. But I can’t help but think how fortunate celebrities like Beyoncé are; she’ll remain in our memories for generations, while my legacy could be reduced to dust.
I don’t face any pressing health issues that suggest my time is short. Generally, my family tends to live long enough to say the most outrageous things without a second thought, which is reassuring. However, certain situations amplify my awareness of mortality. For instance, I make flying an exhilarating experience—my seatbelt is fastened the moment I step on board until we land. A drink or two might help ease the nerves, but then I worry about needing to use the restroom mid-flight. My irrational fear tells me that if the plane goes down, I’ll be trapped in there, splashed with my own discomfort. Dying in an airplane crash while I’m in the lavatory? No thanks.
While the concept of death is daunting, it’s the uncertainty of what follows that sends my anxiety into overdrive. When my partner and I drafted our wills, he was surprisingly chill about it. He’s all for donating his body to science, believing it’s a practical move.
To my logical side, that makes sense. It benefits others and is resourceful. But my irrational mind chimes in, suggesting I should just donate my organs and have the rest cremated. My family could scatter my ashes somewhere beautiful, maybe a beach in Hawaii. But then, what if they have terrible taste and choose an ugly urn? Or worse, what if no one visits my ashes? My mind spirals, and the thought of being forgotten leads to fantasies of cryogenic preservation and grand mausoleums.
Maybe I need to win the lottery and stipulate that descendants must visit me weekly for their inheritance. Or perhaps I should plan a scandal to ensure I’m remembered for ages.
Navigating the idea of death is something I’ll likely grapple with until the end—a sobering thought. But if I manage to live a long life, I’ll at least be ready for it.
For more insights into coping with life and its uncertainties, check out our other blog post here.
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Summary
The article explores the anxiety surrounding mortality and the existential dread that accompanies the realization of death. It touches on the feelings of panic when faced with the thought of one’s legacy and the fate of loved ones. The author humorously navigates the process of creating a will and expresses the irrational fears that come with planning for death. Overall, it’s an introspective look at life’s fleeting nature and the struggle to find meaning amidst the inevitability of mortality.