"A farmer got so old that he couldn't work the fields anymore. So he would spend the day just sitting on the porch. His son, still working the farm, would look up from time to time and see his father sitting there. "He's of no use any more," the son thought to himself, "he doesn't do anything!" One day the son got so frustrated by this, that he built a wooden coffin, dragged it over to the porch, and told his father to get in. Without saying anything, the father climbed inside. After closing the lid, the son dragged the coffin to the edge of the farm where there was a high cliff. As he approached the drop, he heard a light tapping on the lid from inside the coffin. He opened it up. Still lying there peacefully, the father looked up at his son. "I know you are going to throw me over the cliff, but before you do, may I suggest something?" "What is it?" replied the son. "Throw me over the cliff, if you like," said the father, "but save this good wood coffin. Your children might need to use it." (Zen proverb)
So who exactly is that, making that "light tapping" sound? It's you. No, it's certainly not me -- I'm the guy out there working the farm. I'm the startup guy looking to score big, the guy bump-skiing the moguls, the guy raising two kids. No, no, it indeed is you, your future self -- a few decades means nothing within the vastness of time and space.
The stoics refer to it as memento mori i.e. the ancient practice of reflecting on your own mortality. Meditating on your mortality is depressing only if you miss the point. It is, in fact, a tool to create priority and meaning. It's a tool that generations have used to create real perspective and urgency, to treat our time as a gift and not waste it on the trivial and vain. Death doesn't make life pointless but rather purposeful.
Passage of time enables perspective. Perhaps read a few memoirs by the aged or departed (Frasier Meadows once housed a splendid library of these). Aside from offering a unique first-hand view of history, say WWII and the Great Depression, such memoirs often reveal a startling freshness to these accounts of lives as meaningful, urgent, and full (if not more so) than yours today. You might even catch a glimpse of the calmness possessed by that old man in his would-be coffin, depicting Faulkner's well-known quote, "The past is never dead. It isn't even past."
Otherwise: civilization is but one generation deep…
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