Memento Mori

In 49 BCE, as Julius Caesar crossed the Rubicon and marched toward Rome, he knew what lay ahead. Power, yes. Glory, maybe. But also blood, betrayal, and the certainty of death. The phrase he used, Alea iacta est, the die is cast, was less about triumph, more about surrender. A man walking with death beside him chooses differently.

This is the essence of memento mori - remember, you will die. Less like fear but more like clarity.

The Stoics practiced it daily. Marcus Aurelius wrote in his Meditations, “You could leave life right now. Let that determine what you do, say, and think.” Epictetus urged his students to kiss their child goodnight while softly whispering to themselves that death is natural. Unavoidable. Neutral.

Modern life avoids death at all costs. We scroll endlessly. We build 10-year plans. We hoard unread tabs and unspoken truths. We sidestep silence. We act as if this version of us will return for another round.

And that is the illusion.

Memento mori offers no fear. It offers focus. It shrinks the horizon until you see only what matters.

When you live as if the ending is near, you write that message now. You forgive before bed. You stop chasing things that hold no meaning. You stop waiting for a better moment to begin.

There’s a strange freedom in holding the end close. It removes the tyranny of someday. It turns your bucket list into a calendar. It’s Tuesday. What are you doing with it?

In physics, entropy reminds us that systems move toward disorder. In life, that disorder is time. Every second is a grain spilling through your hands. You cannot grip it tighter. You can only plant something in the soil while it is still warm.

I often wonder how different our lives would be if we carried a little skull in our pockets. If, instead of legacy, we pursued presence. If, instead of perfect lives, we built meaningful days.

The question isn’t just: How much time do I have?
The real question is: What have I delayed that only makes sense when time is short?

Memento mori is never a threat.
It is a compass.
And it always points to now.