On Mortality as a Compass

To keep the fact of an ending in view is not morbid; it is clarifying. When I hold the finiteness of things honestly, the day reorganises itself. The trivial grievance loses urgency. The postponed conversation stops being postponed.

We usually flee this awareness because it is uncomfortable. But the fleeing has a cost we rarely name: we spend enormous amounts of life on the small and the loud, and almost none on the few things we would regret leaving undone.

Live as though the hours are real. They are.