Standalone Essays · Triad of Stewardship

Death and Living Fully

Life is brief. When we’re young, it seems an endless horizon, but with time and the quiet accumulation of scars, the illusion fades. So why spend our irreplaceable hours chasing what vanishes? Real joy rarely hides in wealth or titles; it waits in the stillness.

It’s in the wordless ease of sitting beside someone you trust. It’s a slow walk with the person whose hand still fits yours perfectly. It’s the steam and bitter warmth of coffee curling through the blue light of dawn. These are not small things. They are the only things that truly etch themselves into our memory.

Death is not the adversary. Think of it instead as a quiet alarm that whispers: pay attention. Not later, not when the schedule clears, but right now. What we should fear far more than the end is the numbness of the middle — sliding through days without saying what matters, or postponing kindness for a “right moment” that never quite arrives.

When grief comes, try not to flee it. Let it prove that your life is real, that you are here, and that the people you love are within reach — for now.

So, let us live accordingly. Speak what is true. Love without holding back. Mend what can be mended, and gently release what has begun to poison the spirit. Stop waiting for permission to be brave, or waiting to become who you already sense you are.

Rehearsing It

Mortality is not confronted all at once. It is rehearsed, quietly, over a lifetime. Personally, when I go to funerals I quietly sit and visualize my body in the casket, rather than the person who is actually there. I ask myself, “What would I like people to say about me? What effect would I wish to have on them or on the community? What business have I left undone that I need to address?” From time to time I have experienced a fleeting proximity to death as I have worked. I make sure I take a minute or two to go through some of the same exercises.

When pets die, I spend some time meditating on the fact that my biological systems are not fundamentally different from theirs and, just as I can sadly accept their passing, so I should accept my own. By recognizing the similarities between myself and other living creatures, I hope to develop a deeper empathy and acceptance of the universal experience of death.

The Death and the Dying

Sojournism echoes Epictetus when it says, “Death is not something you should fear, for when it arrives, you will not be here.” But that is really kind of a joke, isn’t it? It is not really death that most people fear, but rather the possibly painful, sickening, and often embarrassing process of dying. That is where the lifelong investment in one’s courage and detachment comes into play. These are not static qualities but ongoing practices; by investing in them throughout our lives, we can hopefully find a measure of peace and serenity when the process finally arrives.

Too many people cling to life with a type of desperation. Hospitals will plug the body in, stuff it with chemicals, and electrically control the heart, in a heroic but ultimately futile attempt to stave off death as if it were some fundamental evil, rather than a universal experience. As long as the mind is still there, and serves some purpose, and there is hope of recovery, then sure — by all means — make whatever attempts to stay alive that you want. But if there is no longer a quality of life, or the cost of my body continuing to tremble with some kind of mere simulacrum of life is bankrupting my family — then please, just let me go in peace.

And when the end arrives, there will be no need to resist. You will simply lay the story down — the way you close a well-loved book and rest it on the table, satisfied — and whisper to yourself:

“I was here. I loved well. I tried my best.”

That is enough. It is everything.

See also: Essays · Sojournism: Full Documentation

Part of the Triad of Stewardship’s Standalone Essays. Companion pieces: Forgiveness and Its Limits (forthcoming) · The Mandates of Conflict · Criminal Justice.