Deep in the Yucatán jungle, beneath the heavy green hush of ancient trees, I had the chance to attend a talk at a hacienda by Stephen Jenkinson — author, cultural activist, former palliative care worker, and a voice for a different kind of wisdom. His work, grounded in elderhood and grief literacy, speaks to something often neglected in the Western world: what it means to die wisely.
It was, to say the least, transformative.
Jenkinson spoke about grief as something we must learn to live with — not pathologize or push away. In many parts of the world, death is discussed openly, even embraced as a natural extension of life. But in the West, it’s avoided, sterilized, and spoken about only when we’re forced to.
He urged us to shift our lens — to see death not as a medical event, but as a human one. Something that belongs to the realm of spirit, of relationship, of love. He emphasized that everything in life is temporary — and that this isn’t a cause for despair, but a reason to live more fully, more presently.
One of the most powerful questions he posed was:
Are you practicing your death while you’re still alive?
Not in a morbid way — but as a form of reverence.
To practice dying, he said, is to practice letting go — of control, of permanence, of ego. It might look like:
Letting things end without replacing them.
Saying goodbye while someone is still alive.
Accepting change without clinging to what came before.
Grieving honestly, even when it’s inconvenient.
Being willing to feel — really feel — the losses, both big and small.
These are small deaths. And when we welcome them, we begin to cultivate the capacity to face the larger one when it comes — not with panic, but with presence.
As we wrap up what we’ve known as 2025 and look toward the unknown terrain ahead, I think it’s time we bring the conversation about death into the center of our lives — not out of fear, but out of reverence.
Why is something so guaranteed — our eventual death — treated as taboo?
Mark Twain once said, “I do not fear death. I had been dead for billions and billions of years before I was born, and had not suffered the slightest inconvenience from it.” A reminder that death is not a punishment or an enemy — it’s part of the cycle. Perhaps our fear is not of death itself, but of the unknown, of not having lived fully.
Jenkinson also spoke about the difference between grief and depression — two states often confused, yet profoundly different. Grief is a process, a movement of love in the face of loss. Depression is a condition. Understanding that difference could liberate so many from misdiagnosis and isolation.
He reminded us that culture shapes the way we experience death. In some traditions, death is a celebration. In others, a quiet passage. This made me reflect on how vital travel is — how learning from other cultures might reshape the way we live, love, and let go.
So I ask:
Are we living like we’re going to die?
Are we fulfilling our days — or just waiting for a time that may never come?
Have we prepared our loved ones for life without us?
Have we envisioned what a successful death might look like?
These questions aren’t meant to provoke fear — they’re an invitation. What if death wasn’t something we pushed away, but something we lived toward — with intention, with grace, and with love?
As we turn the page on this strange, beautiful, chaotic year, maybe it’s time we stopped treating death like a deadline — and started treating it like a compass.
What if 2026 wasn’t about doing more, but living deeper?
Grieving more openly.
Loving more fiercely.
Letting go more wisely.
Because we’re all going to die.
But not all of us will have died wisely.
