The other day I was shopping for light bulbs and found one (expensive) that boasted a “25-year lifespan.” I did the math and concluded the bulb will most likely outlast me.

While I don’t dwell on death, at age 70 it’s hard not to think about it from time to time, especially when people of my generation die. In one seven-week period last year, two cousins and a former colleague at the University of San Diego passed. All were non-smokers, active and healthy until they began to feel poorly and were diagnosed with cancer. The youngest was 61 and the oldest 73. A few months later, two close friends – a husband and wife in their early 80s – died 10 days apart. Cancer took them both. These deaths painfully bring home the old saying, “Tomorrow is promised to no man” (or woman).

In 16th and 17th century European paintings, especially those by Dutch and Flemish artists, human skulls were commonly depicted. In some works they are the central motif while in others the skulls are one of numerous objects on a desk or table. They serve as a reminder we are all going to die and that we should reflect on our mortality.

While the Latin phrase “Memento mori” (“Remember you will die”) encourages us to keep death in mind, we do most everything possible to escape the reality of our inevitable demise. In his 1973 Pulitzer Prize-winning book “The Denial of Death,” cultural anthropologist Ernest Becker (1924-1974) stated “the idea of death, the fear of it, haunts the human animal like nothing else.” Whereas Sigmund Freud’s (18561939) basic thesis was that the sex drive, the primal urge to reproduce, was the definitive human life force, for Becker one of the principal motivating factors of our behavior is the subconscious “terror of death.”

For Becker, the frenzy of human activity is designed “largely to avoid the fatality of death, to overcome it by denying in some way that it is the final destiny of man.” Knowing our time is limited, we strive for what Becker calls “heroics”: to build a family, to do meaningful work, to find some measure of enduring worth and meaning that will outlast “death and decay.”

For contemporary psychologist Ronald Siegel, whose views are heavily influenced by Buddhism, the best way to live with the reality of our mortality is to reside in the present moment as much as possible. Spiegel notes that we spend (and waste) much time and emotional energy ruminating about past decisions and events that cannot be changed, and in the unknowable future, contemplating what we can and should do. Siegel suggests the best way to reside in the present – rather than hide from the fact of death via “denial and distraction” – is to tell ourselves on a regular basis, “I am going to die, and I don’t know when.” Reciting this death mantra is not some morbid, pathological obsession. To the contrary, it is a fundamental step toward celebrating life, a reminder that the present is all we have and to make the best of it.

Like most individuals, I find staying in the moment is much easier said than done. Young people are anxiously future-oriented in a society that encourages the never-ending accumulation of material possessions and where downsizing, the outsourcing of jobs and low-paying work are the new – and unsettling – financial reality. For older people who have many more yesterdays than tomorrows, it’s hard not to dwell on the past contemplating the good and bad times (and decisions made) in one’s life.

I find myself thinking and dreaming about my parents (both deceased) a lot these days. The dreams are often of them as a young couple and me a child of 5 or 6. I have two sets of photos of my mother and father that I gaze at regularly. The first is of them in their mid to late 30s, the other in their late 70s or early 80s. Comparing the two photos is a visual reminder of how quickly time passes.

One benefit of aging is a deeper appreciation and sense of gratitude for the many things I took for granted as a younger man: my wife, my family, close friends old and new, travel, time to think and write, a good cup of coffee. I’m thankful I still have the physical and mental well-being to do the things around the house that have to be done (with the exception of washing windows from the outside).

Every year it gets a little harder to hike the mountains and cycle the hills that I once did with relative ease. Mentally it takes a split second (or two or three) longer to call to mind answers to the “Jeopardy” questions I know. My wife tells me that occasionally I repeat myself. But I don’t think that’s true. But I don’t think that’s true.

George Burns (1896-1996) was one of the greatest comedians this country has ever produced, especially when he performed with his talented wife Gracie Allen (1895-1964). I always thought the following line Burns often repeated in his latter years was funny, and with every passing day I have a greater appreciation for the sentiment behind it: “The first thing I do when I get up in the morning is read the obituaries. If I don’t find my name there, I know I’m having a good day.”

I passed on the 25-year light bulb and bought a bulb with a one-year guarantee. I’m trying to take life a day at a time, be thankful for all I have – and stay in the moment.

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George J. Bryjak lives in Bloomingdale, retired after 24 years of teaching sociology at the University of San Diego.

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Sources:

Becker, E. (1973) “The Denial of Death,” Macmillan Publishing: New York

Siegel, R. (2014) “The Science of Mindfulness: A Research Based Path to Well-Being,” The Great Courses: Chantilly, Virginia