> meditate on death Years ago I read a story. As I now recall it, a mother drew a picture of her child, each day, as they headed off to school. For she (corr

> meditate on death Years ago I read a story. As I now recall it, a mother drew a picture of her child, each day, as they headed off to school. For she (correctly) knew, that was the last time she would ever see them alive. The child who returned in the afternoon, was invariably a different person than the one who had left that morning, never to be seen again. One hears advice like "consider that this may be your last day". But it never has been, and for most isn't likely to be. And one-shot it-will-happen-someday processes aren't great for iterative improvement anyway. So I like the story's twist on this. There will likely be someone tomorrow with your name on them. They will likely be a person very similar to you. Though given the vicissitudes of life, they may have different, even very different priorities than you now imagine. A disk crash, an injury, a phone call, an opportunity - things change. You can give forward - a good night's sleep, a new bit of insight or wisdom. And you can weigh their wellbeing in your decisions, as you do all those whom you variously care about. But for you, this day is it. Was it. You do not get another. You will not see another. As usual, immortality lies in the lives you have touched, now including, some future people, who though they share your name, really aren't you.