Turning to Face Your Immortality

I’VE ONLY REALLY FEARED FOR MY LIFE TWICE. 

The first time was when I was 25 years old, right before surgery to remove a tumor from my head. I remember being wheeled into the operating room, looking up at the fluorescent lights and wondering whether that was the last thing I’d ever see.

The second time was in 2020, now 54 and sick with Covid, counting my breaths in a makeshift medical tent and taking silent bets on which would be my last.

I made it (obviously) but the helplessness of those moments lingered. That feeling, the understanding of my own mortality, came in waves – sometimes a small swell, other times a tsunami that sent me reeling. As I reached my 50s it happened more often, the sets coming closer together, the weight and speed of the waves threatening to push me under.

And then it stopped. It stopped today, actually. Not the waves, but the way I chose to look at the water.

An old friend – which is pretty much all my friends now – reminded me that mortality is no longer a concern. There comes a point, he said, when you realize that your kids are doing just fine without you. They love you but they don’t need you anymore. You could now focus on yourself and what lies ahead.

That was it. The truth of all truths. Mortality was in my past, not my future. I would continue to live in my daughter, in her kids someday, in my family and friends. I didn’t have to fear death because I’ve already become immortal.

Now I know that life is something to lean into, not hold on to. If you stand in the water and stare at the oncoming waves, they will pound you and send you reeling. You’ll never get anywhere. But if you turn and flow with them, you’ll move forward. You’ll float. You’ll fly.

Beating mortality isn’t about staying alive, it’s about measuring your life in memories instead of years. It’s about new experiences, not nostalgia. It’s about accepting the fact that life isn’t special if it never ends. Life is special, is worth living, because it ends.

I wasn’t ready for immortality at 25. I wasn’t ready in 2020. But I’m ready now. As I sat with old friends, watching the waves roll in under my beloved Southern California sun, I knew that my mortality was behind me and an ocean of living awaited.

Time to dive in.