It may sound strange, but I really do envy the dead. Those who have found eternal peace while we continue the slog on this earth, backs breaking to make ends meet. We do a fantastic job of chasing the wind and striving for bigger and better things while continually losing the plot.
We grind our teeth to crumbs while filling our bellies with all forms of comfort. We don’t allow our minds to rest, but instead continue to fill them with rubbish disguised as knowledge. We are utterly frazzled, stitches slowly falling apart at the seams. Our knotted muscles refuse to let go of tension’s grip. Our brains trick us into believing we’re productive as we jump onto the daily hamster wheel, chasing our elusive peanut.
The modern world has perfected the art of exhaustion. We’ve turned busyness into a badge of honour, wearing our sleepless nights and overbooked calendars like medals of achievement. We answer emails at midnight, scroll through feeds at dawn, and somehow convince ourselves this is living. We’ve confused motion with progress, noise with substance, accumulation with fulfilment.
The dead have none of this. They have found eternal peace. They have entered a place of rest and enlightenment. They do not need to strive or to survive. Their earthen bodies have already turned to dust. Their energy has returned to the collective, guided skillfully by their creator. No more work. No more pain. No more trauma. Just peace and rest. A utopian state that certainly sounds heavenly to me.
They don’t worry about the bills stacking up on the counter or the meetings they’re late to. They don’t carry the weight of unmet expectations or the burden of comparison. They’ve been released from the tyranny of productivity, freed from the endless cycle of wanting more while having enough.
But here’s the paradox that haunts me: the dead have stopped being useful. Their potential has expired, and only a select few still have a positive influence over our development as their wisdom and life’s work guide us. That’s the one advantage we have. We still have potential. We still have time. We can learn from them and make our existence count.
This realisation is both liberating and terrifying. It means that somewhere between envying eternal rest and squandering our finite days lies the answer we’re all searching for. The dead can teach us something profound if we’re willing to listen: that our time here matters precisely because it ends.
This is where it becomes tricky. We need to figure out exactly how we live purposeful and meaningful lives without destroying ourselves in the process. Being mindful of our fallibility and impermanence is sobering. It helps us remember that our days are numbered and provides much-needed perspective.
But awareness alone isn’t enough. Knowing we’re mortal doesn’t automatically translate into living well. It can paralyse us just as easily as it can motivate us. The question becomes: how do we hold death close enough to appreciate life, but not so close that it suffocates us?
We have a choice. We can either continue our walk mindlessly, like zombies wandering around, bumping into things, clumsily stumbling over each other. Or we can forge ahead with purpose and clarity. We can make a difference and find fulfilment in the process.
The path forward isn’t about doing more or achieving more. It’s about being more deliberate with what we already do. It’s about asking harder questions: What actually matters to me? What would I regret not doing? Who do I want to be for the people around me? These aren’t comfortable questions, and they don’t have easy answers, but they’re the ones worth wrestling with.
Finding the perfect balance is hard when your mental health walks a tightrope and your day-to-day straddles the knife’s edge. Some days, just getting through feels like an achievement. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe the goal isn’t perfection but persistence. Not excellence, but effort. Not mastery, but showing up.
I want to stop envying the dead. I want to live my best life. I mean, really live. Not to be dead in a body that exists. I’m still finding my path, and perhaps that’s the point. The search itself is the answer. The struggle to live meaningfully, even when it’s hard, especially when it’s hard, is what separates the living from the merely existing.
The dead have their peace. But we have our possibility. And maybe that’s worth the weight we carry.
Photo by Ruben Ortega on Unsplash
