I consider the inevitability of my own fatality a lot.
Too much, perhaps, for a health 25 -year-old born into a stable, safe first-world country.
I have no reason to think that I’ll succumbed an early death no healths or pre-existing health conditions, or tenderness for particularly risky pleasures but that’s the thing: no one is truly has a reason to think that they’ll expire” before their time .”
The young beings who die instantly in a car accident or freak accident, or who are killed by savagery or overdose or other unnatural stimulates most of them never received it succeeding, and depending on what you believe going to happen to a person after death they are unable to never even have the chance to know about their untimely fate.
They may never have the possibility of being sorrow their own early death, because well, it’ll all comes to an end before they can even comprehend what has happened.
As you may have predicted, I don’t believe in life after death. I want to- perhaps more than I’ve ever required anything- but I merely can’t.
What’s more, in many ways life after death scares me just as much as the alternative. No material how I look at it, demise is fucking scaring .
If there’s a paradise, then that means when we are die we go there and expend AN ETERNITY there. My recollection can’t even begin to comprehend that length of epoch. Not a hundred years , not a thousand years , not a million or billion or a trillion years , not a trillion times a trillion yearsan immortality, with no end in sight. What is there to look forward to? What is there to be motivated by? What’s the point? Is there raise, or precisely endless life?
Or if reincarnation is true-life, then that symbolizes in my next life I will have no retention of this life- nothing of my attainments, or sidekicks or lineage, or the love of my life, or even my own name. Would I too forget my personality, my infatuations, my hopes and reveries? Would I fully lose myself in order to become a brand new person? And if so, how many times have I done that already, over the course of human reality? How many lives and loved ones- just as real and significant as the present ones- have I forgotten? For me, the remember is as terrifying as it is heartbreaking.
If there’s some unknown” enormous beyond ,” where person collect and float together in the cosmos, this too scares me, because I’m far too attached to who I am here and now. I want to be ME, today, tomorrow, and always. Sure, it sounds nice in some ways, to know that my flavor will never expire because it’s always a part of something greater, but that thought also moves me mourn the loss of my individuality, and the individuality of all those I’ve ever known.
And what if there is simply nothing? What if when I expire, my mettle simply stops defeat, my blood stops flowing, my brain stops functioning, my figure loses its hot, and eventually all traces of my body vanish from the earth altogether. I’ll never subsist again. I won’t travel into some infinite pitch-black nothingness; I simply won’t be.
I won’t ever think, ponder, feel, cherish, or subsist ever again. I’ll precisely has become a dead beast, and if I’m lucky, a memory. My one chance at conscious macrocosm will be doneforever. For infinity, for infinity. Trillions of years will pass, and my probability of returning to consciousness won’t be any greater.
All of these options scare me beyond description. It’s hard for my mentality to even treat the pure primal terror I find when I allow myself to envision,” I won’t exist one day, and there’s nothing I can do about it .”
But more than that, its heartbreaking. Its soul-crushing to think that this could be my one and only chance to experience this beautiful, remarkable, mystifying, fascinating reality .
It genuinely bursts my nerve into a billion minuscule segments to think that there will come a era when I will never be able to look into my sweet spouses terrific eyes ever again, or speak to my parents or sisters. To know that I will leave behind loved ones that will sorrow me, and that I’ll never have the opportunity to comfort them, or to even know about their woe- because I won’t exist.
It quite literally hurts me at my core when I think about how seriously I wish to change thingsbut I can’t. No one can. We’re all powerless against meter, mortality, and death.
At other days, I think about how utterly, fantastically fortunate I am to even have the chance to exist in the first place .
To have been born into a macrocosm where turquoise seas, airplanes, mountain ranges, chocolate brownies, Netflix and Harry Potter volumes exist.
To have been born into a torso that concedes me nearly infinite privileges.
To have found someone that I adore so deeply earlier today in “peoples lives”, to share this life side by side with.
To have parents and sisters who love me, despite all of the crazy shit our lineage has been through together.
To have traveled to so many staggering places available in “the worlds”, and to have looked spates in Asia, Europe, South and Central and Northern america that I never felt I would see.
To know what it means to feel happiness, hope, brainchild, charity, gratitude, and peace.
To know what it means to feel at all .
And even the anguish- the rends, the wrath, the feeling- in the end, it ever serves to employed the good times into position. The delight merely seems sweeter when it follows pain, and for that reason, I’m glad to have knowledge both.
I’m glad to know the taste of marvelous foods like chocolate chip cookie lettuce, Thai red curry, iced caramel macchiatos, buffalo chicken dip, lobster, and fresh bread with butter.
I’m glad to know the feeling of a cool body of water on a hot daytime, a thick-skulled covering on a cold darknes, a soft t-shirt, a meaningful hug, and a refreshing swallow of ocean when I’m thirsty.
I’m glad to know what it’s like to play a video game, read a notebook, climb a mountain, razz a rollercoaster, scuba nose-dive, giggle, smile, and remember.
I’m glad to know what it’s like to adore and be loved.
And as I reflect on the things that I’m grateful for, the belief comes to me: How can I say it’s unfair for me to live and expire in this mas, “peoples lives”, when so many people who have lived on this dirt exclusively had a fraction of the opportunities to experience the thinks and elegance of “the worlds” as me?
How can I say that my one shot at self-conscious live is unjust, when I close my gazes and dream a girl my age living a world-wide away in a third world countries country, who truly knows what it means to be hungry or alarmed, and who hasn’t suffered even a third of the indulgences that I have?
How can I say that my one shot at awareness existence is unfairwhen I think about all of the billions of humans who existed in time periods long before me- time periods without gondolas and restaurants and Tv and drug and the basic solaces I take for awarded?
If I’m forced to cease my awareness cosmo one day, against my will, then so is every other person who has ever lived and who will ever live.
It’s one of the core occasions that all human beings- all biological beings, actually- have in common.
We will all expire, just as “weve all” accept. My event, my horror, my distaste in order to be allowed to all comes to an end – it’s not unique to me. I share it with every human that will ever subsist. I share it with Abraham Lincoln, Cleopatra, Barack Obama, Beyonc, the casting of my favorite TV appearances, the people driving the cars that I find outside my apartment window. We all share fatality; we all share temporary existence.
And as far as temporary world disappears, I have to admit that I detect quite consecrated to have ended up with the existence that I have. In information, these days this very visualized is at the centre of all my thoughts and decisions and knowledge. Everything I do, I do with that knowledge in thinker.
And that means that I strive to forgive, to rely, to take chances, to understand, to hear, to cherish, and the majority of members of all to spend just as much period as I can feeling joyous- because centuries from now, it won’t matter a spec whether I was happy or sad or angry- it simply matters to me, here and now, while I’m still around to prepare that alternative and know-how it.
So, joyous it is .
Its clich, but it’s true- our times on land is a blessing and a knack. Maybe what manufactures it very sweet and special is the fact that no matter what we do, it can’t and won’t last-place eternally. It deserves to be savored and cherished and revalued.
I love being alive.
I love thinking and feeling and question and experiencing, and I please- down to my core- that I could continue thinking and sensitive and wonder and suffering for immortality. And above all, I bid I could know right now whether or not my wish is given an opportunity of starting true.
But I can’t know. I’m not any more special than any other someone that has ever subsisted, and none of us can know.
It’s the greatest whodunit of all time.
But I do know this .
I have experienced paradise. Heaven is Sunday morning, for the purposes of the coatings, with good-for-nothing to do and nowhere to go, give further consideration to my husbands attentions and receiving his love gleaming back at me, experiencing my own adoration exploding out of my heart, and knowing that we can lie there all day if we so choose.
I have experienced rebirth. Rebirth is living a life shaded by feeling, anxiety, suspicion, fury, and substance abuse, slowly but surely passing events around, and came to see you the other side as a joyous, whole person.
And I have experienced non-existence. I suffered it for approximately 13.7 billion years before I was born.
I don’t know how much era I have on earth, or how that time will come to an end, or what will happen to my soul- if such a thing even exists- after that. But none of that is for me to decide or worry about.
As someone very wise formerly articulated,” All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.