I live a full and active life. In fact, I’m probably more engaged than I’ve ever been, with faith that at least some of my ideas will play out in constructive ways over the coming years and decades.

But, at 78 (still a year younger than the current US president), I am also more mortal than ever, and I know it, especially since I figure at least a third of the guys I grew up with are now gone, or ahead of me in the checkout line.

My heart seems fine, but I’ve had an ablation to stop occasional atrial fibrillation. I take blood thinners to prevent another pulmonary embolism (I had a scary one in ’08, but none since). I have a bit of macular degeneration. My genetics are long on longevity (my paternal grandma lived to almost 108), but I have some risk factors as well. The main one, however, is plain old mortality. We’re here for the ride, but the ride ends. And I know that.

So I’ll be devoting more of my bloggings to surfacing valuable lessons and stories left in my care by those now gone, and to making clearer what I’m bringing to generations after mine.

Here is one of the biggest lessons: life really is short. Those 78 years went by fast. And each year goes by faster, since it’s a narrower wedge of my life’s pie. I wish everyone a long life, and also knowledge that the decades, years, or minutes one has left will still be too few. And that this is how life is designed.

On the whole, life is exceptional, and death may be its most durable feature. Of the carbonate rocks that comprise up to 25% of the Earth’s surface, most have biogenic origins. The limestone in the henge above was alive before it lithified.

My point is that we all need to get out of here. Still, I operate in willful oblivity to the inevitable, because that’s more fun and productive than worrying about it. And being old actually helps for doing that.