I can't stop thinking about death

And it's so annoying

Lately, I’ve been awash in existential dread, and I can’t say I recommend it.

I turned 35 this past December, and within three months of the new year starting, I unexpectedly lost a pet I adore and a loved one who was like an additional parent to me growing up. Both deaths have left me grieving and reeling.

I’ve been crying regularly and experiencing anxiety attacks while trying to fall asleep. My ADHD symptoms have been more overwhelming than usual. Plus, I’ve found myself filtering nearly everything in my life through the lens of dying as I unsuccessfully try to predict if today is the day the reaper will come for me or someone I care about.

On the one hand, I’m extremely annoyed by my current obsession with the fact that I could die at any time. It’s not exactly fun ruminating on how we’re all finite specks of nothingness in a seemingly infinite universe that’s too vast for our brains to comprehend no matter how hard they try. And while I logically understand that dwelling on death won’t change its inevitability, I’ve been unable to stop. Now that the preciousness of life has morphed from an abstract threat operating in the wings to a concrete certainty dancing center stage, ignoring it feels impossible.

On the other hand, the dwelling is forcing me to confront things about my life and how I want to live it. I’ve been thinking about how I’ll be lucky to make it to 70 when so many people don’t, and if I only get to live to 70 (or less), that means the first half of my life is already over.

I would characterize my first 35 years as being about clearing the way, removing “should” and “have to,” to build an authentic path forward. I did the work in therapy to learn how to stop being so hard on myself and communicate better, got diagnosed with ADHD and medicated for it, and along the way became a version of myself with softer edges and deeper empathy. I got married, only to navigate years of painful self-discovery that culminated in getting divorced and coming out as a lesbian. Necessary steps in order for me to fully embrace my queerness and be married now to the love of my life. I also earned two degrees, changed careers multiple times, and ran my own business—experiences that helped me hone my skills and interests so that I can engage with the meaningful work I’m doing now.

If I have passed my midway point, I’m proud of who I’ve become (and grateful there are many things I won’t have to live through again). At the same time, I feel a noticeable pressure to be intentional about what the second half of my life could look like.

For example, I had a breakdown last month when I noticed myself stuck in a pattern of moving from screen to screen. All day, I would work on my computer in my office, then end up in an exhausted heap on the couch after work, watching TV while scrolling on my phone. There’s no question it was making me feel terrible in the moment. Yet, my biggest driver to do something about it was the thought that if I kept succumbing to so much mindless screen time when there were dozens of other, more meaningful things I could be doing, I would regret it on my deathbed.

So I talked it out with Jessie to help pinpoint what factors were leading to the habits I didn’t like and what we could do differently—individually and as a couple—to facilitate change. We discussed setting clearer boundaries around working hours and our schedules in general. We’ve recommitted to monthly date nights where we alternate between which person does the planning.

I bought some puzzle books for my bedside table as an alternative to scrolling on my phone when I’m not in the mood to read or journal before bed (using them is still a work in progress). I finally scheduled my first guitar lesson after being gifted a guitar for my 34th birthday a year and a half ago. And because creativity works in mysterious ways, my grief has inspired a new novel idea that I’ve been taking my time to sort out and plot to see if I want to pursue writing it.

When talking to loved ones, I’ve also been holding in my mind, “If this was the last time I got to speak to this person, would I be okay with how I showed up?” That question is prodding me to try to be more present and engaged, to give the people who mean the most to me the benefit of the doubt.

Thanks, death!

While this is all well and good, I want to be clear that this is a journey I’m embarking on imperfectly. The computer-to-phone-to-TV loop is still alive and well in my life, especially when I’m exhausted. There are so many things I want to do but haven’t figured out how to prioritize yet given all the other circumstances I’m living with. I also continue to be immensely afraid of death and what comes after—especially if it’s nothing at all—and ruminate on time and mortality more than I would like to.

Last week I saw a video with clips from a conversation Alok Vaid-Menon had where they were talking about the fear of death. Something they said was, “To live truth means to braid death into life,” and I’m definitely not there yet. Death and I are no longer strangers, but we also aren’t easy companions. Nor do I necessarily envision a future where we will be.

Nevertheless, I’m trying my best to live fully while death is in the room. If I am but a finite speck in an infinite universe, then let me at least aim to be a speck of glitter in celebration of the miracle that is being alive in the first place. Or, if I don’t succeed at that, all signs point to it not mattering at all. Lucky me.

Queerly yours,

Shohreh

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