Memento Mori: The Music Survived

I was taught a month ago

To bide my time and take it slow

But then I learned just yesterday

To rush and never waste the day.

— "Character Zero" Tom Marshall & Trey Anastasio (Phish)

Human nature and mortality have a complicated relationship.

Death is always there, waiting in the background. And it's not always clear what direction it will take us.

Sometimes the awareness of mortality inspires me to create from a deep place inside myself. Recently, I ventured out to an abandoned brick factory to film a song I wrote, "Walk or Die," inspired by Stephen King.

I had a vision in my head, playing this song in some type of otherworldly, apocalyptic setting, an urban alley, or maybe even a graveyard.

When I came across the Brookbrae Brick Factory, I was immediately struck by the photos of the place online. Come the day I filmed the song, I remember standing in the rain amidst these large colorful terracotta bricks filled with graffiti art, and beer cans strewn side-by-side against the lush green backdrop of the forest. There was a mix of age, decay and creative vitality that really hit home for me. It was perfect for the song. In the background you could hear gunshots as it was hunting season in the area. In that moment I felt profoundly alive.

Other times, I find myself swept up in the tangle of responsibilities - a hectic work life, juggling kids as a divorced dad, trying to keep my own creative and personal life afloat. More often than I like to admit, I burn out, and I drift into a kind of apathetic exhaustion.

Awareness of death can pull us in different directions.

Lately, this Gen X kid has become much more aware of his own mortality. There is a growing sense that the world and culture that shaped me belong to another era.

The person looking back in the mirror is not the wide-eyed 22-year-old who talked about moving out west and starting a revolution through music.

Part of me still misses that version of myself. He believed there was unlimited time and unlimited possibility. He assumed life would eventually become what he imagined. What I understand now is that dreams don't disappear all at once. They evolve, and sometimes they stubbornly survive despite everything.

Standing there in the rain at that abandoned brick factory, that 22-year-old who wanted to change the world through music never really went away. He just grew older, got a job, became a father, got divorced, and maybe got tired. Yet somehow he still finds his way into forgotten places to create art and make music.

The older I get, the more I realize that awareness of death is useful only if it helps me live.

Here's what memento mori means to me at this stage of my life.:

• When you know your days are finite, every idle moment can feel wasted. But what looks like wasted time is often spiritual maintenance. Not every moment needs to be productive.

• Imposter syndrome is often just a story you tell yourself. You already have value. You do not need to earn the right to exist.

• Urgency can become its own prison. Building something meaningful while destroying yourself in the process is a bittersweet victory.

• When you catch yourself rushing, ask whether the goal is speed or quality. They are not always the same thing.

• Pay attention to the parts of yourself that feel undernourished: the artist, the dreamer, the friend, the father. All too often we ignore the parts that actually make life worth living.

Yes, you are going to die.

But perhaps the point isn't to squeeze every possible achievement out of your remaining days. Perhaps the point is to actually be present for them.

*Memento mori* is often translated as "remember you must die."

But maybe there is another side we rarely say out loud:

Remember you must live.