In 200 years, I will be very dead. No one will know who I was, and unless they stumble across the remains of this blog, they’ll know nothing about me. Should one of my nephews or niece have descendants, they may stumble across my name while doing a family history project for school. And that’s all I’ll be. A name.
I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around this. Currently, I’m hyperaware of my mortality, and I feel like I’m running out of time. There’s not really any reason for it, beyond the fact that I get a little older everyday.
Why am I here? What is my purpose? Does my continued existence have any true bearing on the future? I’m not a smart, important person. I have no idea where I fit. I keep thinking about all those people over the centuries that lived for a brief window of time. Thanks to things like birth and death records from old churches, we at least know some of their names. But that’s about it.
The more I think about it, I’m not sure that I care if someone remembers my name. However, I want to do something with my life that will be lasting. Something that helps and soothes people, even after I’m long gone.
I don’t fear death. I’m not actively trying to rush it. That said, I do fear dying, having contributed nothing to the world.