Outlived.
We all assume we’ll grow old. You picture a good, meaningful, long life, rarely ever considering you might kick the bucket in your 50s or 60s, or even younger. We arrogantly believe we have more time—confident we’ll see 80-plus years…minimum. But what exactly will you see in 80 years time? Have you ever truly thought about what a long life really means? The flood of experiences, emotions, and random encounters that define those years? The unforgettable and mostly forgettable moments that inevitably take up space?
In 80 years, you’re likely to feel every emotion possible. You’ll hear the loud cheering at graduations, taste champagne toasts at weddings, and smell the frosting on birthday cakes. You’ll experience firsts that stick with you forever—your first kiss, your first home, the first bite of your now favorite food. All the highlights. But in life’s packaged deal, the flipside is inevitable. The side we never signed up for. The heart-wrenching parts: heartbreak, disappointment, fear, unfulfilled dreams, unexpected responsibilities, betrayal, loneliness, and death. The hopeless romantic in us thinks a long life equates to “good vibes only” and plans unfolding exactly as planned. But the scales always tip. Life will always…life.
Yet, when the storms hit, we forget that they’re part of the journey, too. We summon them unknowingly each time we declare our future plans, dreaming of a good, meaningful, long life. But what we really summon is the full experience, the packaged deal—pain included.
Imogene, my 94-year-old grandma, is living a good, meaningful, long life. She held tight to friendships, worked a job she loved for decades, moved away from her hometown, and felt the thrill of living in new places. She traveled, owned a home with pets she loved dearly, and drove sleek, shiny cars. My favorite was her lavender cadillac. Her closet was a testament to her “IT-Girl” style—bold colors, polished shoes, nails done every two weeks without fail, even into her 90s. She knew love intimately. My grandfather, her first husband, was her greatest love. She raised a family, and held her great-great-great-grandchild in her arms. Her life was a tapestry of every joyous moment we imagine when we think of growing old. But within those 94 years, Imogene also outlived special memories, even her highlights, her friends, her husbands, all four of her children, and even a great-grandchild.
The scales always tip, sometimes they balance, but they never rest for long. It’s the silent, often cruel, contradiction of a long life. Joy and heartbreak intertwined, stitched together in a way that feels both inevitable and unbearable. A long life means witnessing the end of others’ stories, watching as chapters close around you. And at some point, it means you will outlive something, and painfully, someone.
Imogene’s life is a beautiful contradiction—full yet shadowed by profound losses. She lives fiercely, still giggles like a schoolgirl, loves with a heart wide open, but every day, she carries the invisible weight of those she outlived. This is the unspoken contract we sign with time, though we rarely acknowledge it. The privilege of a long life comes with the quiet agony of outlasting the people, the places, and the moments that once made us feel alive. We make plans, dream of the years ahead, and hold tightly to those we cherish, knowing every day is both a gift and a gamble. And if we’re lucky, our stories will overflow with moments that mattered, moments that define us. But behind every full, rich life lies the relentless truth that eventually, everything and everyone we love will be…outlived.
