Death and the 100-year barrier
In 100 years, will any of my life have been worth it? This is a mortally important question for me, and it compells me to a life of determination.
I am propelled to create and produce intellectual and emotional output that will transcend my life break the 100-year barrier. Life is so short, fleeting, and even if the years seem long now one day, I will counting them down in earnest. I want my last years to be spent in memory of what I have achieved, in the knowledge that it will last forever and that even when outdated, anachronistic and replaced, my efforts will at least appear in the annals of history. This single drive is my response to the horror that death represents.
Life is a party; a rollercoaster of wishes and dreams, dashed hopes and disappointments but their fullness and our navigation of these complex mazes is such an addictive game, that the stoic end is like a storm on the horizon, overshadowing everything. The picnic will only last so long as long as the winds of time keep blowing; the fair must close, and the 100-year barrier will come crashing down. It is such a dramatic, final, heartsoppingly impossibly black end, that no achievement seems to be long-lasting enough.
That I feel this urgency about life is related to a fear. I am scared of disappearing into the forgotten past that ninety percent of the rest of humanity lay in. Every day should be a day devoted to longevity.
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