Maybe things would be a lot easier if we knew exactly when and how we’re going to die, or perhaps just see far ahead that everything is going to be okay. Because then we’d be opening doors and taking chances, saying we want to be with someone and forgiving those who wronged us. We’d be exploring the Amazon and skydiving every other day, holding on to the factual assurance that we’ll live through it. We’d say, “Yes, I want to walk across Russia! I won’t be dying until 2034 anyway!” We’d care less about our reputations. We’d be less afraid. So when death finally comes, we’d smile and look back on our lives with satisfaction and without regrets, and we’d welcome the end like an old friend.