I was discussing with a friend today, the very human fear of death. It brought to mind a theory I arrived at recently, regarding my own rather flippant attitude on the matter.
I think, for me, it's quite closely bound to the pursuit of
happiness and the enjoyment of life.
As long as life doesn't feel like it's
worth living, then death holds no sway over me, and I have an advantage over people content with their lives. They are afraid. I am not. I figure: how much worse can death be? It can only be an improvement over living. Nothingness has to be better than a negative experience. So as long as I can maintain a steadfast lack of enjoyment in life, and be vigilant to avoid any attempts at happiness that may be lurking, I'll be able to make it to the finish line and laugh in the face of death. I will have won.
It must be terrifying to be enjoying your life, and know it will end. Why would anyone want to subject themselves to such a miserable scenario as that? If life can be a perfectly grueling experience, and I fully understand what it's like to bear these ills, then why the hell not fly to others I know not of?
But, perhaps, unlike people
with a healthy, overt fear of death, my fear of it is actually greater than theirs, however well-hidden, but so much greater that I'm willing to forgo a chance at a happy
life - so that I may keep the conscious fear of death at bay.
It might be time that I accepted a fear of death, so I can begin rejoicing in life. Though being happy - with the stark awareness that the happiness eventually must end - really does sound frightening, and would require a bold leap into actual bravery, rather than my comforting self-assuaging faux bravery. Yikes.
So if you're brave like me and have no fear of death, ask yourself if it's possible that you've actually been cowardly. Then go do something enjoyable that you've thus far been reluctant to try: living.
"It's the fool who plays it cool, by making his world a little colder" ~ Paul McCartney