R.I.P.

You will die; this I can promise. If that sentence made you feel uneasy, don’t be alarmed. It only means you’re still sane. Death is simultaneously the most common and least understood aspect of life. It’s the one thing we all share indefinitely, yet remains so foreign? A simple explanation could be nobody knows what happens after you flatline. I wish the dead could send post cards so we knew what we're getting into. Maybe there is an afterlife where everyone is 20-something, the bar is open 24/7, and drinks are on the house. For all we know, the dead could be in a never ending battle of musical chairs, which doesn’t seem too bad compared to other theories. I’ve actually come closer to death than most people. Having been technically dead for several minutes—a story best for another time—I can say there is bliss in death. For those brief moments, I didn’t exist, my bones weren’t broken, I wasn’t in pain…“I” simply wasn't. Peace is freedom from disturbance; quiet and tranquility. And I’d argue that is exactly what death is.

By no means is this an endorsement of the grim reaper or dying itself, but rather a critique of the gut wrenching feeling it evokes when we ponder it. Life is what we live, but death is what makes it so valuable. Death is what dictates the lengths we go to hold on to life. The thin line between living and dying is all the motivation we need. Imagine if existing was continuous—would the moments we shared be so profound? How can one fully appreciate living if they don’t understand the significance of death?

Think of it this way: before you were born, you didn’t even know you existed. In fact, you have not existed far longer than you have been alive. Death sucks, but only for the living. After you die, don’t think of it as a loss, but as a return to state we are much more familiar with. The universe reclaiming itself; the addition of one beautiful story to a much bigger one. No suffering, no more pain.