Practicing Memento Mori: Learning to Live by Remembering Death
To remember that you will die is not an act of despair. It is an act of honesty. The Stoics called it Memento Mori, a daily reminder of mortality meant to sharpen how we live. It is not about darkness or self-pity. It is about presence. When we see that our time is limited, we stop wasting it on things that do not matter.
For much of my life, I thought about aging the way most people do, as something to resist. But the older I get, the more I see that aging is not an enemy. It is a teacher. Psychologist Laura Carstensen has shown that as people grow older, they often become more emotionally balanced, not less. They savor moments more deeply. They forgive more easily. They find meaning in smaller things. This is not because they have less life left, but because they finally understand that they do.
That is the paradox of aging. The awareness of death can make life better. Modern science now says what the Stoics said two thousand years ago: when you know your time is limited, you live more wisely.
Seneca once wrote, “Let us prepare our minds as if we’d come to the very end of life.” He was not calling for gloom. He was calling for clarity. Marcus Aurelius reminded himself every morning, “You could leave life right now. Let that determine what you do and say and think.” The point is not to fear death, but to let it guide us toward courage and gratitude.
In my own life, this has become more than theory. When my mother died, it forced me to confront how fragile every ordinary day really is. Her passing did not fill me with dread so much as it stripped away an illusion that she would always be there. I saw how quickly conversations and routines can vanish. In the months that followed, I began to notice the things I had to learn to live without, calling her to check in or tell her about events in my life, discussing an Appalachian State football game, or just asking for advice. Losing her deepened my sense of what it means to be fully alive.
Carstensen’s research explains some of what I felt. Her work at Stanford shows that when people perceive time as limited, their emotional priorities shift. They invest less in broad networks and more in a few meaningful relationships. They focus less on ambition and more on peace. This is what she calls socioemotional selectivity theory: our shrinking time horizon changes how we value our days.
Older adults in her studies reported fewer negative emotions, not because they were naïve, but because they were selective. They chose calm over outrage. They turned toward joy. Their brains even processed the world differently, paying more attention to positive experiences than to negative ones. In the language of Stoicism, they were practicing temperance and acceptance.
This is precisely what Marcus and Seneca taught. They urged people to stop living as if tomorrow were guaranteed. To live well means to live with purpose now. Seneca said, “It is not that we have a short time to live, but that we waste much of it.” Modern science echoes his words. When we recognize that time is short, we begin to use it well.
Memento Mori is not about obsessing over death. It is about putting life into some proportion. The Stoics knew that the fear of dying could make people feel timid and small. But facing death honestly can actually make us grateful and brave. The key is to see it as a natural part of life. Epictetus said, “Keep death and exile before your eyes each day, and you will never have an ignoble thought.” Death awareness, practiced with steadiness, builds moral focus.
This is a truth that faith traditions have long echoed. The Psalms ask God to “teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” Buddhist teachers speak of impermanence as the doorway to compassion. In Islam, believers are reminded that every soul will taste death and that awareness calls for humility. Across faiths, the message is consistent: by remembering our limits, we learn to live rightly. The Stoics were not offering a rival creed but shared wisdom. It is a way to keep perspective in a fragile world.
When I think about mortality now, I see how easily we confuse busyness with meaning. We fill our calendars as if they can fend off loss. Yet Memento Mori invites the opposite: slow down, choose what matters, and forgive quickly. If I could pass along one practice to younger people, it would be this simple reflection: “If this were your last ordinary day, would you spend it the same way?” Or as I noted in the original essay that started this series, “The Gift of Memento Mori,” “You don’t know when the last time of something happening is. You don’t know what the last great day you’ll spend with your best friend is. You’ll just know when you’ve never had that day again.” -Greta Gerwig
Carstensen once described how she handles irritation. When something upsets her, she asks, “If this were the last month of my life, would I care?” Her answer is usually no. That question is a modern version of Marcus Aurelius’ meditation, a small anchor in the storm of distraction.
There are practical ways to live this awareness. Some people keep a small coin engraved with Memento Mori as a reminder. Others journal each night, thinking that the day they just lived may have been their last. I often start the morning with a quiet moment of gratitude for another sunrise or a chance to act with decency and kindness. These small rituals keep me from drifting into thoughtless routine.
When we make peace with mortality, we also make peace with imperfection. It becomes easier to let go of resentment, to laugh at inconvenience, to accept that our work and our plans will always be unfinished. Marcus Aurelius wrote, “Do not act as if you were going to live ten thousand years.” When we stop pretending we have endless time, we begin to live in truth.
Memento Mori is not about predicting when death will come. It is about living so that when the time comes, we are not caught unprepared in spirit. The Stoics believed that if you live each day as if it could be your last, eventually you will be right, but you will also be ready.
Remembering death does not have to be the end of joy, but it can be the beginning of wisdom.
Supporting Texts and Readings
Ancient Sources
- Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book II. “You could leave life right now. Let that determine what you do and say and think.”
- Seneca, On the Shortness of Life. “It is not that we have a short time to live, but that we waste much of it.”
- Epictetus, Discourses, 3.24. “Keep death and exile before your eyes each day, and you will never have an ignoble thought.”
Modern and Contemporary References
- Laura L. Carstensen, A Long Bright Future: Happiness, Health, and Financial Security in an Age of Increased Longevity (2009).
- Laura L. Carstensen, “Taking Time Seriously: A Theory of Socioemotional Selectivity,” American Psychologist (1999).
- Hidden Brain Podcast, “The Best Years of Your Life” (August 2025).
- Massimo Pigliucci, How to Be a Stoic (2017).
Related Stoic Practices
For readers exploring the Stoic Practices series, Memento Mori connects closely with Premeditatio Malorum (anticipating adversity) and Evening Reflection (daily review). Each reminds us that perspective and gratitude are skills that deepen with practice.
