Memento Mori, Memento Vivere: Or, You’re Gonna Die, So Maybe Live a Little

So, I was staring at the ceiling the other night—which, by the way, is an underrated hobby if you’re into existential crises—and the phrase memento mori popped into my head. You know, the old Latin chestnut that translates to "Remember you must die." Real cheerful stuff. Just the kind of thing you want rattling around in your brain when you're trying to fall asleep.

And then, like an obnoxious party guest who doesn’t know when to leave, another phrase crashed the existential soirée: memento vivere — "Remember to live." And suddenly I’m lying there thinking, “Oh great, not only do I have to worry about dying, but now I’m also failing at living? Fantastic. Thanks, brain.”

But here’s the thing. These two little phrases are basically the peanut butter and jelly of philosophical sandwiches. Separately, they’re fine. Together, they’re a revelation.

Memento mori isn’t just about death in that Gothic, skull-on-the-desk, moody-teen-poetry kind of way. It’s not a dare to spiral into nihilism and start wearing exclusively black turtlenecks. It’s a reminder that the clock is ticking, and not in a cute, countdown-to-Christmas kind of way. More like a “Hey, one day you’re going to keel over, and your to-do list won’t save you” kind of way.

But here’s where it gets interesting. Knowing you’re going to die should be liberating, not paralyzing. It’s like life is handing you a giant permission slip that says, “Hey, guess what? None of this is permanent. So maybe don’t stress so much about that text you sent three years ago where you accidentally used the wrong ‘your.’”

Now enter memento vivere. The plucky sidekick to our morbid mantra. Memento vivere isn’t about YOLO-ing your way into bad decisions, like getting a regrettable tattoo or starting a podcast no one asked for. It’s about noticing the small stuff. The way your dog looks at you like you’re the most critical person in the universe, even when you’re just eating a sandwich. The smell of coffee in the morning. You’re still here, breathing, even though you once thought you wouldn’t survive middle school gym class.

The irony is that we’re terrible at both of these things. We forget we’re going to die, which makes us arrogant and anxious about nonsense. And we forget to live, which makes us miserable. It’s like we’re determined to get it wrong from both ends.

So, here’s my unsolicited advice: Next time you’re stressing about something dumb—like that email you sent with a typo or the fact that you waved back at someone who wasn’t waving at you—just whisper to yourself, memento mori. You’re going to die. No one cares.

And when you catch yourself zoning out of your life, scrolling through social media like a zombie looking for digital brains, hit yourself with a little memento vivere. Remember to live, even if it’s just looking up from your phone long enough to watch the sunset or realizing that your cat has been silently judging you for the past hour.

Because here’s the kicker: Life is short. Death is certain. But in between those two facts? That’s your shot. So, maybe don’t waste it being afraid of looking stupid. You’re going to look stupid. It’s inevitable. But at least you’ll be alive while you’re doing it.

Hit subscribe if you want more existential ramblings with a side of sarcasm. Or don’t. Memento mori, baby.