It seems the reality of my eventual death, as irrefutable as it is, has had little impact on my life so far, so I don’t believe an exact date would move me. At least not in any direction I would enjoy. I could see it making me more anxious and stressed as I tried to do more, be more, live more, give more, take more and just all around incorporate more into my everyday existence.
My days are already numbered, as are everyone’s, and although I know this, I still have to remind myself to live in the moment, to appreciate every minute, to be thankful for the precious gift of life, to enjoy the people I love, to tell them and show them what they mean to me, to never miss an opportunity to experience life. If understanding that life is finite hasn’t taught me to appreciate every single day, I can’t imagine that having a date for my death will.
Of course it would allow me to be better prepared. Have my affairs in order so to speak. I guess I’m just one of those people who isn’t all that interested in ordering my affairs. I’ll have to give that some thought.
But knowing the number of my days wouldn’t help me be more present in my life. It might even distract me. It’s hard enough some days to remember to enjoy life no matter how it’s going. Each one of my days is precious because it’s a singular occurrence and will never come around again. Sometimes that’s a happy thought; most times it’s not. But it’s always the truth and to remember that as the day unfolds matters to me. I am not always successful but when I am it is awesome. It fills me with wonder and a determination not to miss a moment of my life. Doesn’t last though and moment after moment tumbles away unnoticed or unappreciated. I don’t think knowing the exact time of my death will slow anything down for me.
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