The Inevitability of Death and Impermanence of Good

I struggle a lot with the impermanence of life. With every prolonged stretch of good comes a growing anxiety of the inevitability of bad. The pendulum must swing, I tell myself in times of good.

“But,” my heart tells me, “I don’t want the good times to end.”

I have avoided death for a long time. Avoided experiencing the death of someone close. I’ve never had it. Never had a dog growing up. Never had a friend die. The only real loss I’ve grieved was through was heartbreak, and while those cuts bear deep, no death to compare.

I’m incredibly fortunate to say those words, but the double-edge to this sword is sharp. I think about death. A lot. I think about the inevitability of my own death, and of the death of every person I love and cherish. Yet, it hasn’t happened yet. No one has died.

I should be enjoying it. I should be relishing in it, but instead I’m more anxious than ever about what the future holds. I know that because death is inevitable, every day without it is a step closer. One step closer to being plunged into the whirlwind of emotion when death invites itself in.

This anxiety strips the enjoyment from more days than I’m proud to admit. When something good happens, my heart latches onto it, desperately gripping to avoid the loss. Hoping my friends and friendships fail to fade. Hoping my romantic partners fail to fade. Hoping my parents fail to fade. Hoping my mind fails to fade.

I’m vulnerable to the promise of forever. It’s what my heart desperately craves. I’ve been manipulated, tricked, and fooled into believing the promise of forever—sometimes by myself, foolishly thinking people, places, or things will be here longer than they are.

I know the silver linings of death. The immortals envy mortals for this reason. The impermanence of life places immense value on life itself. Thinking about death all the time should make you more grateful, and to some degree it does. But my engine is partially broken, stuck lamenting the inevitability of all things negative rather than basking in the ever-so-abundant beauty life has to offer.

Death has opened a window into where I want to take my life. Death has opened a window into which friends I keep. Which friends I dearly miss. Death has made me more loving. Death has made me a better human.

Death has also made me anxious, and I know I am not alone.

Those who hold fearlessness towards death leverage the strength to get through anything. They have a belief that no matter what comes my way, I’ll find a way through, plowing, digging, or swimming their way to happiness. I aspire to be one of those people, but as of today, I am not.

Not yet.

I call my anxiety the “calm before the storm syndrome.”

And one day, I will experience death.

And in this bleak hour, I will due justice to all the beauty that passes—using my words, my art, and my heart to make sure their loss is felt. Felt not just by me, but profoundly by others. To let the world know that death is tragic, yet amidst the grief, tears, anguish, and loss, there is room to celebrate life. To celebrate the people who have passed, and to those who still live.

To those who make life worth living, even while they are gone.

Til next time,

sapoots