sometimes death brings peace

because criticism can’t haunt a ghost.

Sometimes, I think death is my biggest motivator. Not in a grim, hopeless way, but in a quiet, oddly comforting one. I’ve always been afraid of trying something new. I second-guess myself to the point of paralysis. The idea of failing in front of people terrifies me — not because I can’t handle failure, but because I hate being seen while I fail. I hate the idea of people forming silent judgments, the idea of my effort becoming someone else’s entertainment.

There have been so many times I wanted to back out of something just because it wasn’t a guaranteed success. I’ve skipped events, declined opportunities, and shelved ideas just to avoid the sting of falling short. But then, as weird as it sounds, the idea of death settles in, and calms me. Not in a “nothing matters” kind of way, but in a “nothing bad lasts forever either” kind of way. It’s like, okay, yes, this might go terribly. But one day I won’t even be around to remember that. One day, this embarrassment, this fear, this hesitation, it’ll all vanish. That thought is strangely comforting.

The feeling that I don’t matter in the long, cosmic sense? It actually makes things easier. It removes the pressure. If everything is fleeting, then so are the opinions of others. So are my failures. That weight lifts, and I feel light enough to move again.

I remember once being invited to perform spoken word at this small gathering. I had written this piece — raw, honest, a little messy, and it felt way too personal. I kept thinking, “What if they don’t get it? What if they laugh or just… stare?” I almost ghosted the event entirely. But then that little thought crept in again — you’re going to die someday. You’re going to die, and none of these strangers will matter, and if they do remember you, at least they’ll remember you tried. That thought wasn’t dark. It was freeing.

So I went. I stood in front of maybe twenty people. My voice shook, and I stumbled over some lines. But when I finished, someone came up to me and said, “I needed to hear that.” And I realized: I would’ve missed that moment if I had let fear decide for me.

I don’t want to live forever. But while I’m here, I want to do things that make me feel alive. And sometimes, oddly enough, remembering that I won’t be here forever is exactly what helps me start.

Am I only one who feels like this?