Philosopher Jesse Summer (Duke) is skeptical; an excerpt:
One lesson that the dying are supposed to teach is to live every day like you’re dying. But I’ve tried it: I’ve ordered coffee like I’m dying, gone for a walk like I’m dying, had conversations like I’m dying. Carpe diem, sure, but this attitude is hard to maintain. If I seriously tried to live today as my last, it would make tomorrow awful. I would have messes to clean up, a hangover, and concerned voicemails to respond to. Even if I approached it somberly, would I assemble my family for some last words, final reflections, and my passwords? And then, what? Make everyone show up again tomorrow?...
Prioritizing with death in mind is like working under a deadline, where all but the most important things fall away. That’s good when you’re dying, but it’s non-transferable. A full life has less important priorities in it, too: friends who are good to see but who wouldn’t be at one’s deathbed, casual hobbies, work projects and home projects and books to read and meals to eat and movies to watch, none of which individually would grow in that shadow of death, but all of which, together, make a life good.
The sole priority that I found left over after the diagnosis shock cleared everything else away was to help my son grow up. Nothing else was deathbed-important. And now, no matter what cautious optimism treatment leads to, I can never forget that all those other priorities are, at best, in a second tier.
Even my one top priority—helping my son grow up—was impossible to pursue. Pursuing long-term priorities requires finding meaning in life’s boring, mundane patterns. Playing catch with my son isn’t awe-inspiring, but it’s meaningful because it’s time together, seeing him develop, talking about what’s on his mind. It’s part of how I understand being a dad: showing that he can talk to me when he needs to, and that I love simply being with him.
(Thanks to Ian Phillips for the pointer.)
