I’m Terrified of Dying Alone

And yet, it’s the one destination we all share

Photo by Allie Smith on Unsplash

I don’t feel particularly afraid of dying. Sure, let’s not kid ourselves: When the end actually arrives, everyone’s afraid. There’s nothing we can do about that.

But, for some reason, the prospect of said end drawing nearer doesn’t seem too scary to me. Definitely not as scary as it should for a 29-year-old. Maybe, it’s because in those 29 years, I’ve experienced more of “a good life” than most people ever will.

This was largely due to circumstances out of my control and partially due to the attitude of working hard I finally adopted at the age of 23.

I’m German. I was born into a family of academics. I’m male, white, and my sheltered childhood left little to be desired. I didn’t have to work throughout high school. I didn’t have to work in high school — good grades came easy. I had every material thing a boy could ever wish for, a loving family, and, by the time I was 23, I’d seen more of the world than most people will ever see, including my parents. This level of genetic and circumstantial luck is totally nuts and impossible to discredit. For that alone, if lightning strikes me down tomorrow, I’ll say thanks for the memories and blissfully dissolve.