Though Some Call Thee Mighty
I was supposed to be at the World Trade Center on 9/11. Here’s what I’ve learned in the 19 years since.
Of the 2,977 people who tragically lost their lives on September 11, 2001 (this number excludes the hijackers), I can’t imagine a single one woke up that day and thought to themselves, “Today is the day I am going to die.” Nor did I. Nor, I highly suspect, did you that day, or today. Or any day in between. Which is the blessing and curse of the weird paradox that makes up our taciturn understanding of our lives’ impermanence. We know we are going to die — in fact, technically, with every tick of the clock, we get closer to that moment — but we fail to realize the second half of that proposition: that because of this exact knowledge, time well spent is the only commodity that should matter to us.
Because I was to board an American Airlines flight later that day and arrive at the World Trade Center Marriott (and spend a part of the evening at the Windows on the World Restaurant/Bar on 9/11 with fellow law school admissions friends), I have thought a good deal on our numbered time on this planet since that day. And I can summarize it in just a few paragraphs. Possibly in a sentence.
Death is inevitable and thus irrelevant; all that matters is the precious time we have left to spend.
I like to quote and link things in my motivational blogs, because there are many people with much more inspiring stories than mine. I’ll do both here. For the link, here is the most influential podcast I have ever listened to, with multiple incredible and perspective-altering stories from a plane crash survivor, Ric Elias. The podcast is over an hour, but I will sincerely say it has saved me well over an hour for every single day since I have listened to it. Just the ability of someone who was certain they were going to die to now look out at life in an entirely different way — to simply say “no” without anxiety or guilt every time they are asked to do something they would rather not — that kind of living in the moment has no price that can be calculated. You can’t buy it; you can only, ideally, discover it. One of the illustrative points in the podcast is the hypothetical, “Would you take a trillion dollars right now in exchange for being turned 90 years old?” Well, almost certainly not, probably not even if you were 85. In fact, if you were 85, you’d likely be so in tune with your numbered days on the planet you might be the least likely to take that offer. We pursue so many things that are irrelevant to the fact that any one of us could be gone tomorrow. Pursue happiness now. Pursue meaning now. Family and friends now. I believe it was Reinhold Messner, the first person to summit Mount Everest without supplemental oxygen (which at the time the scientific community believed was essentially a life-ending endeavor), who said when asked, “Why did you go up there to die?” responded, “I didn’t, I went up there to live.” Nothing material. Just the pure joy of living to the fullest.
I promised a quote. This is a John Donne poem from 1633, a line of which makes up the title of this article.
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
Death doesn’t scare me nearly as much as it used to — when I was a child I would often lie in bed sleepless and paranoid in the knowledge that I would die one day. I no longer think much on it, not because I am less aware that I will die, but because I am so aware that I will. In fact, in a very real sense, I already have. I’ve died exactly 17, 720 day in a row. That is how many I have been on this planet, and every day is permanently behind me. I can never have a single one back. I can never “retake” them. So, in that knowledge, I am trying my best (I have successful days and unsuccessful days, of course) to make the most of the remaining days, be they another 17,000 or just 1. Which, I think, is a good place to end — I’ll ask a question of myself, and maybe you will of yourself, too. If you knew you had just one more day to live, who would you call? Who would you visit? What would you say? And why aren’t you doing it now?