It’s pretty arrogant to think that tomorrow or even the next moment is promised. In the silence between heartbeats, I pray daily we remember what truly matters. Because there’s an unshakable truth that many of us go above and beyond to ignore…we’re here on borrowed time.
The Whisper in the Chariot
Sometime ago I came across a phrase that stopped me in my tracks. Memento mori loosely translated from Latin to mean, “remember you must die.”
Allegedly, the origins of this phrase are credited to the Roman period of time, whenever a victorious general returned home in triumph, parading through the streets while crowds celebrated his glory, a servant would stand behind him in the chariot. The servant’s apparent only job? To whisper in the general’s ear: “Respice post te. Hominem te esse memento. Memento mori!” (Look behind you. Remember you are only a human. Remember you must die!).
At the height of glory, someone was there to remind him he was still mortal.
The Stoics like who embraced this practice weren’t being morbid. They understood something most of us spend a lifetime avoiding, that remembering the end is what clarifies the now.
Marcus Aurelius and Seneca used death as a daily grounding tool. As Aurelius has been noted to say, “You could leave life right now. Let that determine what you do and say and think.”
Even art and religion have their own respective examples, that this concept draws from.
When Everything Changed
As a young lad, death wasn’t a stranger to me, although sometimes I wish it was. I can’t pinpoint the first moment mortality felt real, it just feels like it’s always been the default.
In-between people I had grown to love and respect, from pastors, to people who felt like family but weren’t, to friends that were silently battling demons, and even those who left too soon without warning; grief had been a recurring visitor long before I had the language for it.
But knowing grief and being broken by it are two different things.
Within the span of less than a full year, I lost my cat of 16 years, an amazing woman that took me in like one of her own grandchildren during my formative years, and a good friend who was struggling with more than they let on. Three different kinds of love, gone. I felt angry and sad at the same time. Some would even consider it to be rage. Personally, I think it was love with nowhere to go.
Grief tends to look different on each individual forced to carry it. One thing is certain, it’s a ridiculously heavy load to carry daily and still have to be a functional member of industrial society.
It’s in the little things you start to notice it with at first, laughter feels different, silence hangs a little heavier, and joy carries a hint of ache. You realize immensely that you’re just living on borrowed time, while the clock ticks faster.
The Switch
Something shifted after those experiences. I’m not sure when because it wasn’t a quick experience but it sure was quiet and powerful.
The stupid fears I’d been carrying for years suddenly had light shining on them. The fear of trying. The fear of failing. The fear of being too much or not enough.
So I stopped waiting and started daring myself to start living instead of observing.
My approach to life changed, I found myself slowly having more patience with myself, more love expressed out loud instead of assumed, sharing vulnerability I’d been too guarded to show, embracing goals I’d convinced myself were out of reach.
Little by little the love suddenly had a place to go again and began to realize what nobody tells you about grief, sometimes it cracks you open in ways that let the light in.
What We Should Actually Fear
Memento mori didn’t teach me to fear death.
It taught me to fear an unlived life, that we should fear not living life lovably and abundantly, that we should fear reaching the end having played it safe, having held our love hostage, having let our fears write the story instead of courage and love.
The obstacles will come, pain will always find us at the most unexpected moments but life is ultimately what we make it, and we’re making it every single day, in the risks we take, the love we give or don’t give, the moments we choose to be fully present for or reach for a distraction.
We’re all on borrowed time. The question is what we’re doing with what we’ve been given.
Originally drafted in 2019. Published May 2026.
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