It might seem a little strange. That is largely because it is strange - it is not everyday you have someone peer into your chest, past all the bone, cartilage, flesh and blood. Yet here I find myself, stripped to the waist and lying on my side, waiting nervously as a nurse and her trainee prepare the ultrasound receiver with the cold, mucilaginous gel. I am in my twenties, and I am forced to consider the health of my ticker - a sobering thought at any age, but recently I have been considering my mortality more than I ought to.
We shouldn't plan to die, and although we are finite beings we shouldn't really expect to die either. I don't mean that we should expect to live forever as ageless immortals - that is reserved only for Hollywood, novels and religion (not much of a distinction between these). However, I believe we should live our lives without the constant thought of our impending doom weighing us down, like a leviathan grandfather clock strapped to our withering backs. I know that my life will end at some point, but I would rather that 'some point' was a mystery. If you knew the moment that your life was to end, would it change the way you live? Would you act with less consideration to others, to your health and your environment? Would you make sure you get as much experience as you can before your light is snuffed out? Possibly. So why should it matter? If you are to live for another hour, or another 50 years, why shouldn't you do what you want to do? That doesn't mean ignore the consequences and be as inconsiderate as you can - contrary to popular belief, it is possible to be nice to others and enjoy yourself. The point I am trying to make is that we should live the way we want to live, do what makes us happy and not wait to consider our impending doom. Saving for a rainy day is good, but can you guarantee that the rainy day won't turn into floods and cause natural disasters?
That is enough morbidity for now.
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