The idea of applying lessons from mortality to daily life hits close to home for me. After losing a family member last year, I started seeing mundane moments—like brewing tea or waiting for the bus—as tiny miracles. Now, I keep a journal where I scribble one thing I'd miss if I died tomorrow. Yesterday it was the way my cat's whiskers twitch when she dreams. Sounds morbid, but it's actually liberating! It shifts priorities instantly—suddenly, binge-watching feels less urgent than calling my sister to laugh about our childhood inside jokes.
What surprised me was how this practice bled into creative work too. As a hobbyist photographer, I now frame shots imagining they'll be someone's last memory of that place. It adds this quiet intensity to ordinary scenes—dew on spiderwebs, old men playing chess in the park. Mortality isn't just about grand bucket lists; sometimes it's about noticing how sunlight filters through your curtains at 4PM like liquid gold.
Turning existential awareness into daily action started with small rituals for me. I keep a 'death positivity' playlist—songs like Warren Zevon's 'Keep Me in Your Heart' reminding me to cherish fleeting moments. Before meals, I take three seconds to really smell my food, imagining it might be my last bite of curry. Dramatic? Maybe. But it makes lunch breaks sacred.
The real game-changer was repurposing social media. Instead of doomscrolling, I follow hospice nurses and death doulas sharing stories of final words, regrets, and unexpected joys. Their posts are like little wake-up calls—today one mentioned a patient's dying wish was to taste fresh strawberries again. Now I eat fruit like it's a privilege, skin and all.
Memento mori isn't just some ancient philosophy meme—it's my secret weapon against procrastination. Every morning while brushing my teeth (where all great ideas strike), I ask: 'Is this how I'd spend my time if I knew the clock was ticking?' It's crazy how often the answer is no. That question got me to finally start learning violin at 35, because who cares if I sound like a dying goose? The joy's in the trying.
I also adapted a trick from 'The Midnight Library'—visualizing my alternate selves. When stuck between choices, I imagine future versions of me on their deathbeds. The one who took the safe job? Regretful. The one who backpacked through Mongolia? Smiling. It's become my internal compass for decisions big and small, from skipping overtime to watch fireflies to mustering courage for awkward heart-to-hearts.
2026-06-03 10:05:41
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My Death Was Known Three Years Later
Susie Lahern
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Three years after I died, my mother sent me twenty dollars for living expenses.
Three years before that—the first time I ever asked my family for money—she said to me, offhand, "Sometimes I think you're just putting on an act. What's so unsanitary about a thirty-cent boxed meal? And why can't you wear a five-dollar down jacket? Face it, you're just more high-maintenance than your little brother."
Later, when I needed twenty dollars to buy some cheap medicine for my stomachache, she blocked me immediately and cut off all contact—along with every relative we had.
"Don't contact me anymore. I'm clearly not a good mother. I can't afford to give my son a life of luxury."
But for my younger brother, who had just started high school, she spared no expense—renting him a three-bedroom apartment. Even the family dog got its own room.
In the end, on the day my brother became the top scorer in the state, she finally remembered me. She took me off her block list and transferred twenty dollars.
"It's only twenty dollars. Was it really worth giving your family the silent treatment for three whole years?"
What she never knew was this—
On the night my stomach ruptured, three years ago, I had already died. I couldn't afford to go to the hospital. I froze to death in the snow.
Aryn's journey begins with the gift of strange and life-altering book. Aptly titled 'Rules of Death' it doesn't stop with the exposure of her own identity. The book holds knowledge and power Aryn can only begin to understand.
Mia D’Lorne thought heartbreak would kill her but getting hit by a car did the job faster.
One second she’s running from the sound of her boyfriend and sister fornicating, the next she’s standing in front of an abandoned bus station in what looks like purgatory. The bus that picks her up looks like a prop in a horror movie and she’s introduced to the world of the Soul Recycle Program.
To exist, she has to compete in a twisted afterlife show where the dead fight their way through nightmare worlds for the amusement of unknown and unseen spectators. The rules are simple. Survive or disappear for good.
Mia is joined by two strangers who are just as broken as she is. Axel Rivers, who has been dead for almost a century, and Bree DeBois, a control freak paramedic with more guilt than she can carry. Together they try to survive the challenges of the game.
As the trio do their best to keep from being erased, they begin to realize the Game is more personal than they imagined.
I was having my lunch break when someone anonymously messaged my relationship consultation account.
"The system has decided that I only have seven days before my task's deadline is up. What can I do to keep my wife from dying with me before the world itself kills me?"
The text continued, "Will it work if I pretend that I cheated on her to make her hate me?"
The comments below were filled with mockery.
"God, tell your clickbait elsewhere. You're just going to get your arse kicked here."
"Geez, grow some balls and just say you want to get rid of your wife. The world's going to kill you? I swear, these scumbags are getting more creative with their excuses."
I was a relationship-based content creator who had made it really big, so a bit like this was not all that strange to me at all.
I sneered and answered the question, "Cheating's a total cliche. If you want to kill every bit of love she has for you, destroy the memories she holds close to her heart, deny everything she's ever done for you, and make her think she's a complete joke."
I continued, "If you want her to shed not a single tear after you die, you have to drench her very soul in hatred."
The guy answered immediately, "Thank you. It's going to break my heart, but I'll have to do this."
When I got home that night, my husband, who thought of me as his whole world, tossed our photo album into a brazier. That album had been with us for 10 years, and it was a record of our romantic moments.
I stared at his face, but his expression was colder than any winter wind, and my heart nearly stopped beating right then and there.
"I had a conversation with Death and he wants you back."
---
At the New Year's Eve party, Reniella De Vega finds the dead body of Deshawn Cervantes, the resident golden boy and incredibly rich student from Zobel College for Boys, his death was no accident.
By morning, Rei sees him again - seemingly alive and sitting in the corner of her bedroom. However, only she can see him.
Haunted by the ghost of Deshawn Cervantes, Rei is approached by Death himself with a dangerous proposition. If she can solve the mystery of his murder, she'll be granted a single wish - to wish someone back to life.
With the help of meandering rumors, his suspicious rich friends, and the help of the victim himself, can Rei uncover the truth? Or will Deshawn Cervantes remain as a wandering soul?
How can Reniella De Vega save his life?
After my mom, Margaret Hale, dies of a heart attack, she starts appearing in my sister Claire Dawson's dreams.
In a dream, Mom tells Claire to climb Mount Mistwood before sunrise and burn the entrance ticket for her, or the other ghosts will bully her.
Claire doesn't tell me anything. She packs a bag in the middle of the night and forces herself to the summit.
While she's gasping her way up that mountain, I'm asleep at home when I suddenly go into cardiac arrest. I wake up in the emergency room with doctors shouting over me.
I barely survive before Mom appears in Claire's dreams again.
This time, she says skydiving is her last wish. If Claire doesn't do it for her, she won't rest in peace.
Claire signs up right away, ignoring everything I say. But then, her parachute refuses to open, and she plummets toward the ground. Luckily, she gets snagged in a tree and walks away without a scratch.
Meanwhile, I miss a step going downstairs, tumble to the bottom, end up covered in bruises, and break five ribs.
While I'm recovering in the hospital, Mom shows up in Claire's dreams again.
Now, she wants Claire to go to the South Pole for her, saying she can finally move on and be reincarnated once Claire completes the trip.
Claire doesn't hesitate and books a tour on the spot.
While she's taking pictures with penguins, I freeze to death back home during a 104-degree heatwave.
Only after I die does it finally hit me that Mom's missions for Claire always end with me on death's doorstep.
What I don't understand is how Mom keeps shifting the danger meant for Claire onto me instead.
The next time I open my eyes, I'm back on the morning after Mom first appeared in Claire's dream.
I stumbled upon 'What Death Taught Me' during a phase where I was questioning everything—career, relationships, purpose. The book’s raw honesty about mortality hit me like a freight train. It wasn’t just about death; it framed life as this fragile, fleeting thing that demands urgency. I started journaling after reading it, jotting down tiny victories—like finally learning to bake sourdough or calling my grandma weekly. The chapter on 'unfinished conversations' made me reconnect with an old friend I’d ghosted years ago. We cried over coffee, and it healed something I didn’t even know was broken.
What’s wild is how the author turns grief into a compass. There’s a passage where they describe regret as 'wearing someone else’s shoes to walk your own path.' It stuck with me. I quit my soul-crushing job three months later. Now I work freelance, designing posters for indie bands—way less money, but I wake up excited. The book’s not a magic fix, though. It’s more like a mirror that forces you to ask: 'Am I building a life I’ll be proud of when death taps my shoulder?'
Epictetus' 'A Manual for Living' feels like an old friend whispering wisdom when life gets chaotic. I stumbled upon it during a rough patch—job stress, relationships fraying—and its simplicity stunned me. The core idea? Control what you can, accept what you can't. Sounds obvious, but man, practicing it rewires your brain. When my train gets delayed now, instead of fuming, I pull out my book or people-watch. It's not about suppressing emotions but redirecting energy. The chapter on desires hit hardest—asking 'Is this within my power?' before craving something saves so much frustration.
Small rituals help too. Mornings, I scribble one Stoic quote on a sticky note ('You have power over your mind—not outside events' is a favorite) and test it like a mental filter all day. Failed? No guilt, just note why. Over time, it's less about 'applying lessons' and more like breathing—a natural pause before reacting. Oddly, the book made me kinder to others too; recognizing their actions stem from their own struggles, not malice. Still a work in progress, but that's the point.
Reading 'What Death Taught Me' felt like being handed a mirror that reflects life in its rawest form. At first, I approached it as just another philosophical piece, but it quickly unraveled into something far more personal. The way it dissects mortality isn’t morbid—it’s almost liberating. It made me question how much time I spend worrying about trivial things, like social media validation or minor setbacks at work. The book frames death not as an end but as a lens to magnify what truly matters: connections, creativity, and the present moment.
One passage that stuck with me compares life to a fleeting sunset—you can either mourn its brevity or savor every hue while it lasts. It’s shifted how I prioritize my days. Now, when I catch myself stressing over deadlines, I pause and ask, 'Will this matter in 10 years?' More often than not, the answer is no. The book also introduced me to similar themes in 'The Midnight Library' and 'Tuesdays with Morrie,' which expanded the conversation about living intentionally. It’s funny how a topic as heavy as death can actually lighten your heart.