( □ Debate amongst yourselves.) Coming to terms with life-and how it’s unfortunately and inextricably linked with death-is a mindful exercise in acceptance. (How did you know that gifts are my love language, Grim?) Living a life worth living involves more than stuffing as much pizza as we can into our days. You’ve given me the gift of equanimity. WE ARE LIKE PSL’S: WE ARE “LIMITED TIME ONLY,” SO GET YOUR CINNAMON-NUTMEG-CLOVE-FLAVORED FILL OF LIFE! There’s a reason people go batshit over Pumpkin Spice Lattes every September. I’d undervalue the experience of being alive because there’d be nothing to lose … and we all know that we need an expiry date to appreciate things. If I knew I was going to live forever (put differently: if you didn’t exist) I’d be 750% less motivated to Get Shit Done with any sense of urgency. Knowing I have 1,898-ish Mondays left until we meet makes me want to DO SOMETHING with that time, with my life, with my hopes, with my dreams. Whether it’s tonight (please don’t make it tonight- we’re ordering pizza and I’d really hate to miss out) or 50 years from now, I want to live with width and depth. Knowing you’re out there, lurking in the shadows, makes me mindful of the time I have left until you ring the doorbell. You make me live my life so much better.Thank you for sparing me! This is beginning to feel romantic. I have it markedly better than the 6,300 unlucky earthlings who got to look you in the eye since I started typing this missive to you. Social scientists call it “downward social comparison” when we feel better about our lot in life by comparing ourselves to those who have it worse off. You’re out there doing a bang-up job of killing approximately 6,300 people an hour, and I’m deeply grateful I haven’t made the cut yet. This is the worst love letter of all time! So here’s the part where I’ll redeem our relationship: Reaper?Īfter all this unseemly besmirching, I can see why you’d be confused. No, you’re pretty much rotten to the moral core.
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