Dear James: I Can’t Stop Thinking About Death

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Dear James,

For all intents and purposes, at age 47, I’m in the best shape of my life. In June 2022, I entered into a wonderful relationship with my current partner. We’re happy. And yet, I can’t stop thinking about death.

Some context: Before this, I was in a sad, somewhat unhealthy 20-year marriage; my wife had an affair, and I finally decided to leave after several years of sleepless, panicked nights spent wondering why my partner would betray me. I’ve suffered other losses: As the child of a single mother, I was home alone a lot when I was very young. My biological father and my stepfather (who helped raise me) are gone (drugs and alcoholism). My grandfather, an aunt, and two cousins have died. After years of therapy, it’s become clear to me that these losses, coupled with my sad marriage, may have robbed me of the pleasure of some of my formative years—and that all of this is at the center of my fear of leaving this Earth prematurely.

But living in fear of dying is mentally exhausting. Is it normal for someone my age to think daily about their imminent death? Is this what they call an existential or midlife crisis?

Dear Reader,

How to overcome the fear of death: If I could give you an answer to that one, I wouldn’t be typing this column right now. I’d be in my compound, with my cult. I’d be leading 400 of my most dazed and grateful followers into our brand-new Orgy Dome, designed by Rem Koolhaas.

Nevertheless, let me attempt to respond to your question. Or at least to tell you what (sort of) worked for me.

Let’s begin with this: It is absolutely normal for a 47-year-old man to be thinking constantly about dying. It’s not fun, but it is normal. Middle age is when you lie in bed listening to what Martin Amis called “the information”: creaky joints, distress in the bowel, heart jitters, libidinal crisis, all the nasty little indexes of mortality. Your body begins to mutter at you. So yes, death is on your mind.

Also: You’re having a nice time with your partner. You are not used to having a nice time. Some part of you, perhaps, wonders if you deserve to have a nice time. Which makes you think: Surely this cannot last. Surely malignant Fate will strike me down.

At some point it will, of course. No getting around it. As my first therapist used to say, his ginger eyebrows flying, after I’d been speculating on this or that scenario for my own imminent carrying-off: “Well, there is a reality to that.”

Here’s what helped. First, I began to treat my fear of death as a symptom, rather than as a dilemma to be resolved. I treated it as a kind of rash on my psyche. “My fear of death is acting up again!” “My fear of death is killing me today.” This, after a while, allowed me a degree of detachment from the fear-of-death feelings. Some wiggle room—only about half an inch, but that’s all you need.

Second, I eventually and almost accidentally—via thinking, panicking, and running around like an idiot—roughed out an emergency philosophy for myself. I think that, in the end, everyone has to do this on their own. Mine is nothing very coherent or profound; perhaps I can better describe it as a ramshackle neurological resilience. At any rate, it seems to meet the moment or at least get me to the next moment. Some books that were helpful: Barry Miles’s biography of Allen Ginsberg, the Gospel of Mark, and At the Existentialist Café, by Sarah Bakewell.

In the short term, I recommend reattaching yourself to your body—that same grumbling, bits-falling-off, what’s-happening-to-me body that we discussed earlier. Put some stress on it! Run up a hill; take a cold shower; hit the town; eat a doughnut. Don’t worry too much about the pleasures you may have missed in your life. Take your pleasures now. Enjoy your partner. Enjoy yourself. Enjoy being alive.

Courage!

James

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