The Gift of Mortality: How Embracing Death Transforms Life

-Karthik Gurumurthy

In 1569, Michel de Montaigne experienced something that changed everything. Thrown from his horse and given up for dead, he watched his own life slip away—not violently, but almost gracefully, like a spirit dancing on his lips. At the last possible moment, life returned to him.

This brush with death became the defining moment of his existence. Within years, he would become one of Europe’s most celebrated writers, penning essays that still resonate today, serving as mayor, traveling as a dignitary, and advising kings. It’s the oldest story we know: someone nearly dies, takes stock, and emerges completely transformed—a better, more purposeful person.

For Montaigne, coming so close to death energized rather than frightened him. Death was no longer something to fear but something that had become almost familiar. Looking it in the eyes had been a relief, even inspiring. He discovered that death doesn’t make life pointless—it makes life purposeful. And fortunately, we don’t need to nearly die to access this transformative energy.

In his essays, Montaigne proved that we can meditate on death and remain fully aware of our mortality without becoming morbid or depressed. His near-death experience gave him a uniquely playful relationship with existence and a clarity that he carried forward for the rest of his life. This revelation is encouraging: embracing the precariousness of our existence can be exhilarating and empowering rather than paralyzing.

I’ve come to understand that our fear of death looms like an obstacle in everything we do. It shapes our decisions, colors our outlook, and drives many of our actions. But Montaigne spent the rest of his life dwelling on and meditating on that moment, recreating his near-death experience as vividly as possible. He studied death, discussed it openly, and learned how different cultures approached this universal human experience.

He wrote about ancient drinking games where participants would toast while looking at paintings of corpses: “Drink and be merry, for when you’re dead you will look like this.” Shakespeare echoed this wisdom in The Tempest: “Every third thought shall be my grave.” Every culture has developed its own way of teaching the same lesson—memento mori, as the Romans said. Remember you are mortal.

It might seem strange that we need to be reminded of something so obvious, but clearly we do. Part of our struggle with acceptance comes from our fundamentally messed-up relationship with our own existence. We may not say it directly, but deep down we act and behave as if we’re invincible, impervious to the trials and tribulations of mortality. We think, “That stuff happens to other people, not to me. I have plenty of time left.”

We forget how fragile our grip on life really is. Otherwise, we wouldn’t spend so much time obsessing over trivial matters, trying to become famous, accumulating more money than we could ever spend, or making elaborate plans for a distant future. All these pursuits are fundamentally negated by death. They assume death won’t affect us, or at least not when we don’t want it to.

The harsh truth is that it doesn’t matter who you are or what you’ve accomplished—somewhere out there is someone who could end your life for a thousand dollars, a vial of drugs, or simply for getting in their way. A car accident, a medical emergency, a random act of violence—that’s it. Everything ends. Today, tomorrow, someday soon.

When people ask, “What would you change if you were diagnosed with cancer?” they inevitably comfort themselves with the lie: “Well, thank God I don’t have cancer.” But we do. The diagnosis is terminal for all of us. We’ve all been handed a death sentence. Each second, probability eats away at our chances of being alive tomorrow. Something is coming that we’ll never be able to stop.

But thinking about and being aware of our mortality creates real perspective and urgency. It doesn’t need to be depressing—it’s invigorating. Since this awareness is so powerful, we should embrace it rather than deny or fear it.

Reminding ourselves daily that we will die helps us treat our time as the precious gift it is. Someone on a deadline doesn’t waste time on the impossible or complain about how they’d prefer things to be. They figure out what needs to be done and do it, fitting in as much as possible before time runs out. When that final moment comes, they can say, “Of course, I would have liked to last a little longer, but I made the most of what I was given.”

Death is the most universal obstacle we face—the one we can do the least about. At best, we can hope to delay it, but we’ll all succumb eventually. However, this doesn’t diminish its value while we’re alive. In death’s shadow, prioritization becomes easier. Graciousness, appreciation, and principles naturally fall into their proper place and perspective.

Why would you choose to do the wrong thing? Why feel unnecessary fear? Why disappoint yourself and others? Life will be over soon enough; death reminds us that we might as well live it right.

We can learn to adjust and come to terms with death—this final and most humbling fact of existence—and find relief in understanding that nothing else we face is nearly as difficult. If even our own mortality can offer some benefit, then surely we can derive value from every other obstacle we encounter.

This perspective transforms every challenge into an opportunity for growth, every setback into a teacher, every day into a gift to be used wisely rather than squandered on things that ultimately don’t matter.