Metaphorical Death

Metaphorical Death, Self-Discovery, and the Ticking Clock

Why do I wake up every morning? What purpose pulls me out of sleep and into another day? I’ve been wrestling with these questions for as long as I can remember—questions about why I’m here, what my life means, and how I fit into this vast, unrelenting universe. A hundred years ago, I didn’t exist. A hundred years from now, I likely won’t exist in this form—or perhaps I will, in some other way, reshaped and unknowable. The thought is both haunting and strangely comforting. Somewhere in this haze of uncertainty, I stumbled upon the idea of  Metaphorical Death.

I’m not sure if I’m truly alive—at least, not in the way I once thought I was. Some days, I feel like a shadow of myself, caught between who I’ve been and who I might become. Maybe this is what it means to exist in a metaphorical death: to linger in the in-between, where the old self fades but the new self has yet to fully arrive. It’s not a physical death, of course, but something deeper, quieter—an internal shedding of layers, habits, and beliefs that no longer serve. It’s the kind of death that makes room for rebirth.

This death isn’t an ending; it’s a transformation. To embrace it is to let go of the parts of yourself that hold you back—the fears, the doubts, the stories you’ve clung to for too long. It’s a painful process, this letting go. But in that pain, there’s also an invitation: to step into something new, something unknown. A chance to see heaven while you’re still alive.

I’ve been exploring this process of self-discovery, trying to unravel the threads of who I am and why I feel so drawn to these questions. But the answers don’t come easily. Sometimes, they don’t come at all. And that’s where time steps in, that ticking clock, always in the background. It doesn’t care about my struggles or my search for meaning. It just keeps moving forward, an unyielding reminder that my time here is finite.

The clock doesn’t wait, but it does offer clarity. It asks: What will you do with this fleeting moment? In the tension between time’s harshness and life’s uncertainty, I’ve learned to seek significance, even in the void. Maybe meaning isn’t something we’re handed. Maybe it’s something we create—through small moments, quiet acts, and the courage to keep moving forward, even when the path ahead feels invisible.

It’s strange, really. In the grand scheme of things, we’re so small, so impermanent. And yet, in our fleeting existence, we matter. We matter because we’re here, now, breathing, asking questions, and daring to imagine that there’s more. Maybe that’s enough. Maybe that’s everything.

Image courtesy of Unsplash

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