I am going to die.

So are you.

Trust me on this
one.

Nothing we can do
about it.

Somehow, some day
we are all going to die.

Simple as that.

The way things work
is: we are born, we live for a little while, and then we die.

EVERYTHING and
EVERYONE that ever lives dies.

So, why do we worry
about it?

To be honest, I
think that the older we get, the easier it is to accept this simple
fact of life. When we are young, we simply cannot fathom anything
changing as far as our bodies or, for that matter, anything else in
the universe, is concerned. When young, we simply have not lived long
enough to see any evidence of such things.

However, over a
period of time, we see the effects on or bodies and our friend's
bodies that aging produces.

I have a face full
or wrinkles.

My body is not as
limber as it used to be. (After sitting for any length of time, it
takes me a step or two before my legs get into full gear these days.)

Rarely do I
experience a minute any more when I do not have aches and pains
(Nothing earth-shattering, but they are definitely there.)

Almost all of the
pigment has gone out of my hair. When I was a young boy, my hair was
blonde. Then, as I passed the age of five or six, my hair turned
brown. And then, when I hit somewhere around forty, it started
turning gray. These days, it's almost pure white, and I look like a
Q-Tip. (When I was onstage last month in The Importance of Being
Earnest, a woman in the audience came up to me afterward and told
me that I was the spitting image of Steve Martin.)

To be honest with
you, I don't mind having white hair. At least I have full head of it.

Beats baldness, I
guess.

As I continue
(hopefully) to age over the next few decades, I'm sure that other
signs of the body wearing out will become more apparent to me: more
memory loss, more hearing loss, and, (shudder), erectile
dysfunction!

But all of these
are simply reminders to me of the bigger issue: I am going to die.
Life is finite.

There was a time
when I used to fret about this fact. Looking back, I find that
particular worry (and, for that matter, most worries) to be
nothing but a colossal waste of time and energy. I mean, why would
you worry about the inevitable? Nightfall is going to occur. What
good does it do to worry about when it's going to happen? It's going
to happen anyway, whether you worry about it or not.

It is not morbid to
admit that I am going die someday. Nor is it futile to try to extend
my life as long as possible if I am enjoying it. What is futile is denying that, eventually, death is going to happen.

As I have aged, I
have come to realize that NOTHING is permanent. EVERYTHING is
transient. The sunset that I observe today is unique unto itself;
there will never, ever be another one exactly like it. Every single
second expires the moment that it takes place, and it can never be
retrieved.

I am different
today that I was yesterday or than I will be tomorrow. I am shaped
and altered by my experiences, and the notion of who I am is
constantly in flux.

I do not know how
much longer I will live. I am only guaranteed this very moment, this
split second, while I am living it. That's it. My aorta may explode
before I finish typing this sentence. (It didn't!)

With the
inevitability of death looming over me (and you) at all times, is it
necessary for me to believe in an afterlife in order for my life to
have meaning? I used to think so. I don't any longer.

If there is an afterlife, that's and dandy. If not, that's all right too.

If there is not an
afterlife, I will never know. Everything will just be over. Enter
nothingness. There will be an emotionless, senseless void of which I
will never be conscious. That's it.

Whether I am
remembered or not after my death will be of no concern to me because
there will be no consciousness for me any longer.

If there is an
afterlife, I may go to another plane of existence where everything
that I accomplished in this life has little or no significance to me
any longer, just like a favorite toy of my childhood brings no
rapture to me as an adult, except to conjure up fond memories.

Do I need to
believe in a God who sits in judgment over me in order to deter me
from doing harm to others? No. I do no harm simply because I like
other creatures and really don't want to cause them physical pain or
emotional discomfort. (Besides, is believing in God a deterrent to
reprehensible actions? Look at all of those who believe in the many
manifestations of “God” who do absolutely abominable things to
their fellow creatures. . . often times in the name of The
Almighty!)

If I live as long
as my paternal grandfather, I will be around for nine more years. If
I live as long as my father, I've got twelve more to go.

The average life
span of an American male is 74 years (80 years for an American
female). If that is the measure, then I've got 18 years left.

But, again, the
point is not how many years I live; the point is that, sooner or
later, I am going to die.

Life is often
likened to a journey. How often have we heard things like “As we
travel down life's bumpy road . . .” Well, if life is, in fact, a
journey, it is one for which we have no benefit of a road map. It is
also a journey with no definite final destination in mind. The final
destination is simply the place and time where and when we stop
traveling

Until that time, I
am going to spend my life continuing to live as I am living –
enjoying myself and appreciating and loving as many people and
natural wonders as possible.