Death...

Disclaimer: This is going to be a very depressing article, both due to the content and due to the fact that it was written on a weekend (great choice of day there). So reading along is totally up to your discretion. And no I am not suicidal, this is just a post.

Last Monday I woke up with an odd feeling- that this was going to be my final week on Earth. My final week to live. And then full stop. Period. Done. That's it, I wouldn't have to wake up in the morning, I wouldn't have to think about what was to be done, make an agenda, procrastination would have no consequences, I wouldn't have to be answerable to anyone, I wouldn't to worry about keeping people happy...oh the number of 'I didn't'-s and 'I wouldn't'-s that I could come up with....

Oddly enough, I wasn't sad or concerned about it. It almost seemed like a relief. I think the rationale behind it was that no matter what we do in life, and no matter if we achieved the fame we all yearned for, one had to die someday with or without that fame, with or without that knowledge. Hence, not a big deal. I sat down thinking to myself how life, in reality, was too long. On average, we live to about 70 years these days. Sure there are exceptions. But we can't help admit that life expectancy has increased. And yet, we seem so concerned about life being too short. I mean how much more time do you need to figure out your life. If you haven't done things by then, you won't do it anymore.

We are scared of death- no doubt about that. And living with that fear, we ruin every ounce of potential fun we are entitled to, or at least think we are entitled to. Almost seems like, things we do are to avoid death. That we know of its existence, should technically make it simpler for us to live, not complicated to the core. That knowledge should in fact just let us live...not die while living...