Death: The Beginning of the End

Death.

Or: Why we successfully repress, deny, and sleep through the finale of our lives until it suddenly knocks at the door.

—

Death is certainly the most unpopular guest at the party called life: No one invites it, no one wants to see it, and yet it usually shows up unannounced sooner or later. We humans love life, but as soon as it comes to dying, passing, or saying goodbye, we look away in panic or suddenly have something urgently important to do. Repressing instead of being distressed, denying instead of understanding, avoiding instead of processing — that’s the strategy that the human mind chooses, as dramatically ignorant as it is efficient.

Yet death, of all things, shouldn’t surprise us: It is historically verifiable as the world’s longest-running business model — developed before any innovation, invention, or technological advance. Death reliably outlives generations, trends, and current fashions; it comes persistently, reliably, and guaranteed. Nevertheless, we bravely try to block it out, banish it, outwit it — as if dying were an inconvenient special option rather than an irrevocable rule.

Particularly ironic: We are all mortal from birth, we know this, yet we consistently and impressively repress it. We live as if we could press “replay” infinitely every day. We continue to diligently work, buy, consume, as if financial security alone were an adequate response to the inevitable finale. “Prepare for old age!” today means: retirement insurance instead of accepting reality, stock markets instead of preparation for departure, climbing the career ladder instead of having coffee with mortality.

Of course, the fear of death has quite understandable reasons: Dying sounds initially unpleasant, uncomfortable, impractical. A farewell without a definitive return ticket, no reliable reviews available from previous participants — an end with an open outcome, as if the scriptwriter suddenly gave up halfway through. This seems to us hardly amusing, but rather frightening: People love control, want predictability instead of panic attacks, security instead of questions of meaning. Death, however, doesn’t just press pause but directly hits the off button.

Yet the very fact that our life is finite could actually be helpful. Without death, life would be like an endless movie without credits, like a play without a curtain, like a permanent vacation without returning home — nice at the beginning, boring after a short time, and annoying with continued operation. The temporal limitation gives our life depth, intensity, authenticity. Without death, everything would be arbitrary, always postponable, never urgent — and probably even extremely dull.

But we prefer to cheerfully continue ignoring our expiration date, drinking, celebrating, consuming — until death suddenly stands awkwardly unexpected before us, while we ask in surprise: “Is it already that late?” With others’ deaths, we are affected, sad, briefly switch to philosophical mode — and then mostly continue shopping, working, watching Netflix, as if farewell had nothing to do with us personally. Afterward, vigorously repressing instead of actively accepting.

Death, however, reliably confronts us radically with what we actually find important, valuable, and essential. On deathbeds, people rarely complain that they would have liked to sit longer in the office or have more money in the bank. Much more often, people regret relationships, friendships, or dreams that they successfully neglected, postponed, or ignored. Pure irony: We strategically avoid conversations about death, while simultaneously missing out on living better precisely because of that.

Because only the awareness of death gives meaning to our lives. Factually speaking, we all know in advance that the party of life definitely ends. We have received an invitation without an expiration date, but we know for certain that as soon as Death shows up smiling and enters the dance floor, our music stops. Wouldn’t conscious mortality therefore even be sensible, instead of naive euphoria and senseless denial of reality?

Perhaps we should much more frequently consciously accept that death is not only an end, but also a clear mirror of our lives: still being here, being able to live, being allowed to laugh — that is a gift, challenge, and unique opportunity. Not an endless extension, but a finite, absolutely limited possibility.

Can we imagine finally accepting death instead of repressing it, patiently embracing it instead of frustratedly avoiding it? Perhaps we could then live more courageously, wildly, intensely, because we know: No second round, no secure reset, no permanent backup for missed chances.

Perhaps we should finally consciously deal with the fact that every moment of life becomes more precious, honest, and special precisely because life will eventually be definitively over. Instead of dramatic fear, we could then finally celebrate freedom, courage, intense experience — less cramped, more passionate.

If we openly accepted death, we could better celebrate life, enjoy it more intensely, live more riskily — consciously not wasting a second unused, unsatisfied, or unnecessarily. Then death would even have a positive side effect: It gives our life appreciation, depth, meaning — if we finally have the courage to realistically accept it.

Of course, dying remains uncomfortable, death insurmountable, definitive answers unreached. But perhaps we could finally see death more calmly — less as an absolute drama, but as a reliable reminder to live courageously, enthusiastically, and consistently.

Could we actively embrace death instead of fearfully rejecting it? Perhaps that would even be the art of living.

—

Maybe.

---