Memento Mori: A reflection on the transience of human existence

I found myself consumed by a singular thought: what I wanted my life to be, and what I wanted the world to say about me when I was gone. This obsession haunted me, day and night. I worked tirelessly to craft a legacy that would outlast me, but the more I toiled, the more elusive it seemed.

As I reflected on this reality, I began to realize the futility of my pursuit. It was like being in a dark room, slowly illuminated by a streak of light. The more I pondered, the more I understood that my desire for recognition was rooted in a deeper need – a need for validation, for proof that my existence mattered.

This realization led me to question the motivations behind my actions. Why was I so desperate to leave a lasting legacy? What drove me to seek validation from others? The answer, I discovered, lay in my own insecurities. As a young person, I felt stripped and denied by life. I wanted to be known, to be remembered. I wanted to leave my mark on the world.

But as I delved deeper into this desire, I began to see its flaws. What pride can the dead take in their accomplishments? What do they know of the world they left behind? I asked myself: what benefit is it to the dead to be hallowed, although the living may extol them?

This line of inquiry led me to a profound realization: ego is vain, and anything that feeds it is equally vain. We are often what we’re fed by. Yet many of us strive to protect our name, our reputation, our legacy. But what is in a name, really? Nothing can be named that does not exist. Therefore, as goes the man, so goes the name.

My pursuit of legacy, I realized, was at the mercy of validation. It was a reflection of what I lacked, not what I owned. I was small to think such thoughts, and so I resigned myself to creating an image of myself – an image that, ironically, I already was.

In the end, I came to understand that there is nothing beyond this life – no laurels, no bullets. All living is today. All living is now. The pains and the prestige begin and end here, in this moment. Man would do well to relish his time here, for nothing is important after one’s last breath.

Is our generation not a speck in the order of countless generations that have existed? Is it not senseless haughtiness to imagine that we, alone, can make a lasting impact on the vast seas of time?

And so, I let go of my need for validation. I let go of my desire for a lasting legacy. For when I am gone, it will not matter what strangers say of me. I will be dead. I will have no heart to appreciate a compliment or vanity to be triggered by criticism.I will be dead, and so will my critics, eventually.