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I’m not sure if it’s the multitude of significant life transitions I’ve faced recently—coming out as queer, navigating divorce, distancing myself from my upbringing’s beliefs, relocating, and, of course, the pandemic—or if it’s simply the age where my own mortality feels more pressing. Regardless, I find myself ensnared in a continuous, subtle existential dilemma.
Thoughts on Mortality
Here’s a glimpse into my thought process: Someday, I will die. That’s a given. Everyone faces death; it’s a natural part of life—something I can accept. But what will happen to my consciousness? The concept of my awareness ceasing to exist as it currently does, or vanishing entirely, fills me with dread.
We generally agree that our thoughts shape our identity. So what occurs when those thoughts either stop or evolve to the point where they no longer resemble our current selves? Are we still who we are, or do we simply … disappear? How can we be self-aware one moment and non-existent the next? Is this a blessing that I won’t be able to experience the heartbreak of my own absence because I won’t be around to feel it? That thought doesn’t ease my mind at all.
The Nihilistic Spiral
I ponder these questions while doing household chores, taking walks, or driving to appointments. My musings often spiral into a near-nihilistic state: if we are merely fleeting moments of awareness on a tiny rock orbiting an inconsequential star, what’s the point of caring about anything? If nothing lasts, what significance does anything hold?
Even if you lean towards spiritual beliefs about an afterlife, it’s reasonable to assume that any form of consciousness after death will be vastly different from our current state. Much of what occupies our thoughts and energy today—like home decor, skincare routines, or workplace disputes—might seem trivial when viewed against the vastness of the universe and the endlessness of time. Even if there’s a Heaven, you wouldn’t get there as your current self.
Yet, if nothing is eternal and nothing truly matters, then perhaps the fleeting moments that feel significant and the existence of emotions themselves are miraculous.
The Wonder of Consciousness
Consciousness is a wonder, regardless of your beliefs about how it originated. Whether you think we emerged from random interactions of particles that evolved into self-aware beings or believe in a divine creator, the fact that we can reflect on our existence is astounding. Consider the multitude of life forms on this planet that cannot recognize themselves or ponder their own mortality. It is indeed miraculous.
My fear of losing consciousness intensifies when I think about loved ones. Coming out as queer at nearly forty, I spent so long in uncertainty. Now that I’ve found a partner whom I love deeply, the thought of not having enough time together is daunting. My partner lives 1,400 miles away, and I worry about dying before we can build a life together. Even if we share a solid forty years, what happens after we’re gone? What about my children? Where does our love go when we no longer exist?
I can accept that energy transforms, but I also know that my consciousness and the feelings I hold for my partner and children stem from chemical processes in my brain. What happens when my brain is no longer functioning? The idea that all the love and connections I cherish could simply vanish is terrifying. It’s easy to understand why some people find comfort in religion, believing that consciousness persists in some form after death, allowing for a reunion. I wish I could believe that, but it would be disingenuous to claim so just to escape my dread of mortality.
Addressing Existential Thoughts
When I search “existential crisis,” I often find articles linking these thoughts to mental health issues like anxiety and depression. While I understand how these fears could become overwhelming, I don’t wish to ignore or suppress them. To me, it feels like an elephant in the room that we should be discussing more openly. Acknowledging the preciousness of life while we’re still alive could shift our perspectives. When viewed through the right lens, existential crises can inspire gratitude and compassion for others.
My ongoing existential quandary doesn’t dominate my thoughts every day, but when it does surface, filling me with fear about my impermanence, I strive to redirect that energy into appreciating the miracle of being alive—even if it’s while completing mundane tasks like folding laundry or grocery shopping. If I truly believe consciousness is miraculous, it makes sense not to waste too much time worrying about the duration of it.
So, on most days, when these thoughts arise, I find gratitude for my consciousness and a resolve not to squander it—right after I finish my taxes.
Resources for Further Reading
For those looking for insightful discussions about home insemination, check out this informative post on home insemination practices. You can also find great resources for artificial insemination at Make A Mom, or listen to valuable advice on fertility and pregnancy at Cleveland Clinic’s OB-GYN Time podcast.