A few years ago, I lost my dad. He was 55. It was obviously a major loss.
One day, he was here—laughing, arguing, living. The next, he was gone.
Just like that.
And you know what messed me up the most? Not just the grief—though that was brutal—but the mind-blowing reality of it. One moment, you exist. The next, you don’t.
It’s like… how does that even work? How does someone just stop?
Today, we’re talking about the one thing everyone avoids — until they can’t.
Death.
And why you should start practicing for it today.
Let me ask you something: When was the last time you really thought about dying? Not in a morbid, “life is meaningless” way—but in a way that sharpened your focus and clarified your priorities?
If you’re like most people, the answer is never. We avoid talking and thinking about death like it’s a spoiler for a Netflix series we’re still watching.
But here’s the thing: Death isn’t the spoiler—it’s the director. It doesn’t care about your plans.
Car crashes, heart attacks, pandemics, a rogue banana peel on the stairs—your ticket could get punched anytime, anywhere.
Even if you’re “lucky” enough to die in your sleep at 90, let’s be honest: You won’t be sprinting marathons or writing symphonies in those final years. Your best days are right now. So why do we spend time doing what we do?
The Stoics understood this urgency. They practiced memento mori, which literally means “Remember you must die.”
Marcus Aurelius wrote every morning: “You could leave life right now. Let that determine what you do, say, and think.”
Seneca urged his fellow Romans to “hold every hour in your grasp.”
These ancient philosophers weren’t being morbid or depressing. They were reminding themselves to live—truly live—in the face of life’s one certainty.
When you stop pretending death isn’t real, you start burning brighter. You stop crying over parts of life and realize the whole of it calls for action.
You trade regret and anxiety for gratitude and audacity. You make that trip, take that leap, say that apology. Because you’re not rehearsing anymore.
THIS IS IT.
Now, let’s talk about cultures that get it right. In Mexico, they throw a party for death—Día de los Muertos, which translates to Day of the Dead.
They don’t hide from death; they laugh in its face.
Some tibetan monks on the other hand meditate on rotting corpses. Why? To burn into their minds: That this is temporary. Act accordingly.
Even in modern times, we see the power of this practice.
Steve Jobs spoke about looking in the mirror every morning and asking: “If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?”
And when the answer was “no” for too many days in a row, he knew he needed to change something.
This practice led him to make some of his boldest decisions, which ultimately transformed our world.
These people weren’t morbid. They were alive. Because when you confront your own mortality, you gain a clarity of perspective that is otherwise inaccessible.
The petty concerns and trivial anxieties that consume so much of our mental bandwidth suddenly seem laughably insignificant. You begin to ask yourself, “What really matters? How do I want to spend the precious, limited time I have on this earth?”
Most of us go through life as if we had all the time in the world. We put off our dreams, take our loved ones for granted, and waste our days on meaningless details. But the truth is, we are all terminal.
The hourglass is always emptying, and we never know which grain of sand will be our last.
So start now. Carpe diem. Memento mori. Embrace the urgency and emotions that comes from recognizing your own mortality. Practice death, so that you may truly live.
So here’s my challenge to you:
1. Write your daily inscription.
Every morning, ask: “If I died tonight, what would today’s headline be?”
Choose your headline and then live that headline.
2. Do a reverse bucket list.
Write down everything you’ve already done, risks that paid off, tiny joys.
Because, gratitude is not just warm feelings—it’s jet fuel for urgency.
3. Burn the fear.
Ask: “What am I avoiding that death will take anyway?”
Scared to quit that job? Sending that email? Approaching someone? Starting that podcast? Forgive that friend?
Burn the fear.
Death’s coming anyway—so why die small?
The next time you’re stuck in traffic, bored in a meeting, or fighting over nonsense, hit pause. Ask: “Is this how I would spend my final breath?”
If not? Change it. Because death’s not the enemy. The enemy is the lie that you have time.
I challenge you today to spend just five minutes contemplating your own mortality.
How does it change your perspective? Your priorities? Your sense of what matters most?
