02/05/2025
Dying Before You Die: The Path to a Fuller Life
I’ve been sitting with the weight of death lately. Not in a morbid or fearful way, but as a companion—an invitation. Perhaps it’s trickling in more strongly now in the aftermath of my daughter’s recent brush with it. Watching her walk so closely to that threshold left its mark—not just in her, but in me too. I’ve noticed a shift in her since, a deeper gratitude blooming in her presence. A rekindled tightness in our bond.
There’s something about standing so near the edge that rearranges what matters.
And what I’ve noticed, especially in conversations with clients, is how much of our reality is shaped by a deep, often unconscious fear of death. It hides in our anxiety, our need to control, our resistance to change.
But why are we so afraid of something that is the only certainty?
We will all die.
We just don’t know when or how.
Perhaps the fear is biological—a built-in mechanism that compels us to survive. But I also wonder if the deeper terror stems from something else:
From not truly knowing who we are.
From being so attached to the idea of self that the loss of it feels like the end of everything.
We live our lives grasping for permanence—seeking security in relationships, identities, roles, and routines. But permanence is an illusion. The only true constant is change. Everything dies. Everything transforms.
Including us.
And yet, something changes when we come close to death.
I know this from my own experience—having touched that threshold myself. And like so many others who’ve been there, I returned with a knowing I didn’t have before: that there is something vast, boundless, and unshakably peaceful beyond this form. Something real that cannot die.
Those who have crossed that veil and returned often carry with them a deep gratitude and a quiet understanding—that everything is changing, and to grasp or control is to suffer. Peace, it seems, lives in our willingness to let go.
This kind of reckoning invites a different kind of life. A simpler life. One rooted in presence. One that isn’t distracted by the noise of needing more, but softened by the beauty of this moment.
To die before we die is to release the false layers. The identities, expectations, and stories that no longer serve us. It’s not an ending—it’s a beginning. A returning.
When we make peace with impermanence, we return to what is real.
And what is real is always here.
Always changing.
Always inviting us to live—not from fear, but from love.
So let death be a teacher.
Let it guide you inward.
Let it help you remember what cannot die.
And from that remembering, may you truly live.