“Once you learn how to die, you learn how to live.”
This quote from the book Tuesdays with Morrie, by Mitch Albom, made something I’d been wondering about finally click. Coming from Morrie—a gentle 78-year-old professor with a soft, peaceful demeanor—it felt jarring at first, almost out of character. But the more I sat with it, the more it began to connect to an idea I’d been grappling with: what it really means to live in the present.
As students in our late teens and early twenties, we spend so much time building blueprints for a life we haven’t lived yet. We chase internships, grades, recognition—trying to construct a future version of ourselves that finally feels complete. But a habit you never practice won’t suddenly appear when you “make it.” One day, the future will become the present, and if you’ve never learned how to put meaning behind your actions—how to look around and truly see and appreciate your life—you’ll step into that picture you worked so hard to create and run the risk of feeling nothing.
That’s the quiet tragedy I think a lot of “successful” people run into. If you live under the assumption that happiness begins once you have enough, enough will always move further away. The picture of completeness will just keep changing—a better job, a nicer apartment, a new version of “someday.” It isn’t their fault; no one tells us that fulfillment is a skill. But if we believe the point is to keep upgrading, at what point are we actually in our lives?
So how do we live without waiting for life to start?
Most of us live as if tomorrow is promised. But if you were told you had one day left, what would you do? Maybe you’d imagine taking bigger risks—skydiving, making reckless decisions, or crossing off everything you can from your bucket list. Morrie’s answer was less intense, yet somehow more radical. He said he’d live an ordinary day: wake up, eat breakfast with friends, notice the birds around him, talk to the people he loves, and tell them what they mean to him. He’d have a good dinner and dance a little. Then he’d fall asleep feeling at peace. That, he said, would be enough.
The future matters, and success is an admirable goal to strive for. It isn’t only a sign of discipline—it can also give us the stability we need to enjoy the present. But it loses meaning if we can’t appreciate what’s already here. I’ve seen how people who postpone joy or connection in the name of achievement often end up hollow, even after they get everything they wanted.
Maybe that’s what Morrie meant. Learning how to die isn’t about the end—it’s about the urgency that comes from the realization that there is no “later” big enough to make up for not living now.
How we would live our last day, won’t look the same for everyone. But while we’re here, we can try and make sure our present makes us proud, and have faith that each day we spend with the people, careers, or hobbies we treasure will lead us closer to a future worth arriving in.
