Finitude

Time only gets so much of us. We’re born into its current, swept along for some years, and then, one day, we die. As time carries on, we vanish–or at least our thinking selves do. Our atoms are recycled, perhaps into another conscious being, but for us, this is our entire experience. This is our only opportunity to lead the life we want to live. Daunting, yes–but thrilling. It is our finitude, the fact that we can’t be or do all things, that gives life meaning.

Yet too often, we resist this truth. We convince ourselves that there is, in fact, time for everything and everyone. This illusion only leads to overwhelm. In trying to accomplish all things, we become consumed by endless tasks, each one appearing just as urgent as the next. When everything feels equally important, we default to what is easy, not what is essential. We stay just as busy, live for just as many days, weeks, and years–but never quite align with what would truly bring us joy.

Acknowledging finitude forces priority. It compels us to ask: if we can only do so much, what do we want to do? What don’t we want to do? Simple questions. Difficult answers. Yet it is this constant evaluation–and reevaluation–that allows us to chart a meaningful life. But priorities alone won’t solve everything.

Pursuing fewer, more intentional goals is undoubtedly valuable, but too much ambition can be its own trap. If we are in search of a perfect life, not only will we never find it, but we’ll be miserable along the way. Relinquishing our desire for control is just as, if not more, important than focusing our efforts. Not just accepting, but embracing imperfection, is perhaps the greatest recognition of mortality.

We are only here for so long. No one gets everything right. We may as well enjoy the moments lent to us so generously by time. Above all else, finitude is a reminder to remain present, to seize the day, and to make the most of a brief and beautiful life.