The importance of dying
There are a handful of unquestioned assumptions that, once broached, generally make people uncomfortable. Ask any breeder or careerist. Nobody really wants to think about why they had to be told about religion from such an early age; it’s supposed to be innate and self-evident, just like true love. “It just fucking is, okay??”
This is why I think everybody who waits to die in their sleep should be awarded a truck full of pony shit and a losing lottery ticket.
All of the things we think are so terribly, terribly important don’t mean a whole hell of a lot when you’re waiting around to die. And guess what? Sooner or later, pondering this will wind up on your to-do list.
Which is why I advise all right-thinking individuals to make out a will and kill themselves. Intelligently, of course. You don’t want to screw it up. Then you’re just waiting around to die in a persistent vegetative state, or with organ failure or something; in a condition that most would describe as “no fun”.
But there’s how things should be and how they really are.
The damned shame of it is that one tends to believe that death is the worst possible thing that could happen to them at a time when it really is the worst possible thing that could happen to them. Unfortunately, we have a hard time outgrowing this perception. We’re getting better at it; there are a couple of states that no longer expect you to bankrupt your family by hanging around on life support, even though they do require you to prove that you are, in fact, terminally ill, instead of having just spent too much time hanging around alt.suicide.holiday.
The fact remains, ask people to visualize a world in which they do not exist and they can’t do it. At least there are fewer headstones these days.
You don’t get to pick when you die. You don’t get to pick how you die. But like Facebook, you have to opt out of being kept on life support, rather than requiring you to opt in.
Meanwhile, six billion creeps towards being nine point five. Hey, a lot can happen in forty years, right?