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I’ve always had this theory.
Maybe life is a journey toward death. In a strange way, everyone is moving toward it, consciously or not.
When a baby is born, we encourage them to crawl, to stand, to walk. We celebrate when they grow quickly. But why the rush to grow? Growing simply means moving forward in time, and time only moves in one direction.
As children, we are pushed to start school early. Some even skip grades to finish faster. Why are we always in a hurry? To graduate. To get a job. To become someone.
Then comes the next race: build a career, make money, fall in love, get married, have children. After that, many look forward to becoming grandparents, to see the next generation continue.
But beneath all these milestones, isn’t there a quiet awareness that our time is limited?
It feels like we are trying to accomplish, experience, and leave something behind before the inevitable end. We measure our lives by achievements, relationships, and legacy, almost as if we are preparing for our own mortality.
So I wonder, is life truly about living, or is it about what we manage to do before death finds us?
Maybe the urgency we feel is not really about success. Maybe it is about meaning.
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