The Cozy Chair Where Mortality Sits With Me
"I don’t want to achieve immortality through my work; I want to achieve immortality through not dying. I don’t want to live on in the hearts of my countrymen; I want to live on in my apartment.”
— Woody Allen (but it’s giving deep midlife reflection vibes)
Last August, I received a package with new books that I thought would last me till the end of the year. It was a mixed bundle: fiction, short stories, poems, self-help, psychology… I was in for a treat.
You see, I’d fallen back on my reading. I never seemed to have the time to read. Let me rephrase that — I never created time to read, and so I was determined to catch up.
Reader, I did not finish any of them.
Some had tiny fonts. One was forcing me to examine myself. I was not in the mood for this - I’d rather stare directly at the sun. One book was… not nearly as spicy as I had hoped (Love Letters of Great Men), anyone?
But in December, with a bit more breathing room, I picked up two books, one I had read a long time ago and another from my newly acquired stack of books . I read them slowly, savoring and pausing to contemplate each chapter.
Two teachings I had glossed over suddenly made perfect sense. I'm forced to face the reality that I love mortals… and I am mortal too.
1. Non-attachment
"So it should be with persons; if you kiss your child, or brother, or friend… you must remind yourself that you love a mortal, and that nothing that you love is your very own. It is given to you for the moment, not forever nor inseparably — but like a fig or a bunch of grapes at the appointed season of the year, and if you long for it in winter you are a fool. So too, if you long for your son or your friend when it is not given you to have him, know that you are longing for a fig in winter."
(You may replace figs and grapes with mangoes from Ukambani in June.)
2. Open door logic.
One of the books I bought was The Denial of Death by Ernest Becker. When I bought this book, I knew it would be one of the last books on the shelf I’d read — or perhaps not. It now seemed to me that the universe — the gods — were conspiring to make me confront this natural but painful reality.
Then came the chapter on death and suicide.
It shook me. …
“If it is not for profit, the door stands open; if it is to your profit, bear it. For in every event the door must stand open and then we have no trouble.”
Suicide is seen through Stoic philosophy, as the open door.
I have great empathy for people who feel that walking through the open door is the only option. And while in some contexts it may be viewed as acceptable, for me it was a hard chapter. I can’t do it justice here.
What I took from the books, though, is this: I must learn to live hic et nunc—the here and now.
“I must die, must I? If at once, then I am dying; if soon, I dine now, as it is time for dinner, and afterwards when the time comes, I will die.”
And by doing so, I will likely enjoy life more.
Enjoy the people in my life more.
Because tomorrow isn’t promised. (Practicing non-attachment. Sigh.)
The Paradox
It’s a strange paradox, isn’t it? Someone who desperately doesn’t want to die is constantly thinking about death. What I really mean is—I think about how much I don’t want to die. But I know it’s inevitable.
I’m far from achieving acceptance, but I’m learning.
So, with trepidation, I will forge on. Join me?
PS.
Love Letters of Great Men is a fantastic read. I loved seeing men being open, vulnerable, and expressive about the women they loved—wives, fiancées, lovers, or mistresses.
And it seems I’m in great company. I’ve found quite a few articles and surveys about how many of us are afraid to die—not because of death itself, but because we really, really want to live.
I wouldn’t be surprised if I one day invest in a company researching on how to prolong life. (You know, just casually biohack my way into eternity.)
But for now, I’ll settle for books that nudge me toward peace—and maybe, just maybe, help me look in the mirror.