I don’t dedicate much time to thinking about my own mortality.
I don’t think that many of us do. Focussing on our mortality has the potential to hold us back, fill us with fear, weigh us down.
But then there are times when we just can’t help it. Like when we find ourselves skidding across the road with only a thin layer of fabric between us and the road. Like when we have to make an emergency flight across half the world to visit a parent who is fighting for his life. Like when we hear of people we know being told their child has a terminal illness.
It is in these moments that we have no choice but to face the reality that yes, we will all die. And no, it will never feel fair. The timing won’t be right, nor the situation ideal. Death is not considerate. And I do not know how any of us can really be prepared.
But I cannot live prepared that the next time I set off on my bike will be my last; that every time I open Facebook chat with my mum there may be a message worse than the last. I need things like games of Tetris and wasted time on Pinterest; I must laugh and carry on. Because life will end, for all of us, and not one of us has a bloody clue when it is.
So let’s enjoy it while it lasts, eh?