“Death steals everything except our stories” - Jim Harrison (In Search of Small Gods)
People don’t like to think about death. I think the stigma stems from the end generally being painful for all involved. Whether it’s a tragic death of a youth or years-long battle with cancer, the idea of passing irks us because at the end of the day, we enjoy life because it’s all we know. Another aspect of death is a representation of the separation of our spirit from our physical bodies—a sort of tearing-off-the-Band-Aid experience that shouldn’t be so.
Despite it being hard to contemplate, there are many benefits to reflecting on the concept of death. At the legendary Berkshire Hathaway shareholder meeting this past May, investor Warren Buffet suggested that people should “write [their] obituary and figure out how to live up to it.” This makes a lot of sense. People like to think of life in terms of short-term expectations. What do I have to do today? What are the projects and assignments I must complete this week? What are my dinner plans tomorrow? But rarely do I contemplate how this busyness contributes to my life goals.
I found this insight from Buffet particularly analogous to his long-term, value-oriented investment philosophy. Rather than focus on a next quarter earnings play for a particular stock, Buffet purchases compounders that generate returns over long time horizons. Through this framework, such as the expectations investing philosophy perpetuated by Michael J. Mauboussin, investors should look at what current stock prices imply about a company’s future performance and compare it to what they think is reasonable, rather than make their own flawed projections. Similarly in life, I think we should consider what our long-term goals are first, and work backwards to determine what needs to be baked in those goals to “earn” those milestones.
Most of what I’ve seen about this idea, however, has revolved around general ideas of an obituary. Things such as “he was good father, hard worker, devoted member of the church.” But an idea I’ve been contemplating recently has been a physical obituary. I’ve been listening to a lot of Dr. Peter Attia, a Canadian American physician focused on life extension and health enhancement. While watching Chris Williamson’s podcast interview with Attia, he discussed the ideas of discerning what you want to be able to do physically at age 90. This sparked the idea of a physical obituary. Here’s mine for example:
At age 90 (or before my death), I want to be able to:
Pick up my grandchildren and hold them.
Pull myself up or get up after a fall.
Run and walk a 1-mile distance without excessive cardiovascular fatigue.
Drive myself.
Adjust furniture in my home.
Carry my spouse.
Go up and down the stairs multiple times a day.
Write and draw with a pencil.
Maintain flexibility and touch my toes.
Read.
These are ambitious goals for sure. But luckily for me, now I have a clear picture of what I want and can determine what I need to do to get there. I think a life well-lived is typically accompanied by those two keys of (1) determining what you want and your priorities (2) drafting a plan to accomplish it. So, I challenge you readers to draft up your own physical obituary. And tomorrow, start lifting, running, or anything else that you think you need to accomplish to attain what you eventually want. What you do now has a larger impact on longevity than you might think.
Last December, I read an article in the Wall Street Journal about the importance of preserving your life story. At the end, this specific quote jumped out at me:
“Even if no one reads or listens to your tale, you haven’t wasted your time. Reviewing your life—what you’re trying to do, why and how it is panning out—might give you the inspiration to mend some of your ways. It isn’t too late to improve the narrative.”
It’s never too late. Figure out what it takes to get there. And most importantly: remember.
Being physically fit is just halfway to being fully fit. There’s a spiritual side as well. I long for the time when I may face my Creator and hear the words from my Lord, “Well done, good and faithful servant” for the life I have lived. And perhaps, the eternal reward of those words makes thinking about death a little easier.
See you in 71 years.
Goat