That Little Issue of Mortality

So, Jack LaLanne died last week. Now, I'm not personally very attached to Jack LaLanne, but I think he's a good illustration. He live 96 years reminding us again and again that life is worth living well. He stayed active and ate well and lived years and years. But did his efforts have anything to do with it? Who knows. It could be entirely coincidental. Either way, he's still dead. Even after 96 years, he's still not enjoying the sunshine and not spending time with people he loves, and, more importantly to me, not experiencing anything at all.

When I was young, like most children, I hated going to bed at night. I was well aware that the problem was that I knew by sleeping I would be missing out.

There's a lot of talk in atheist circles about how freeing it is to not face eternity either in torment or in mindless servitude to a petty ruler. But I have trouble with the idea of not existing being freeing. Maybe for some. My husband certainly agrees. I don't. I for one am not ashamed to say that I don't want to stop existing. Does that make me selfish? Conceited? I don't care. I like being. I personally think that makes me fantastic. It makes me flexible and resilient. I can deal with being miserable as long as I'm still being.

But that still leaves me with the dread of not being.

There are some complications of late which make this more pressing in my mind. But that's neither here nor there. I just had to get something posted.