We’re All Going to Die
And Why Embracing Your Mortality Can Elevate Your Game
I hate to break it to you, but you're going to die. So am I. So is everyone on your team, your board, and your competition. That can be uncomfortable for some people to talk about, but it doesn't make it any less likely to happen to them.
Morbid? Maybe. But it's also the most clarifying fact available to you as a leader.
The ancient Stoics had this figured out. Memento mori – remember you will die. They didn't say this to be depressing philosophers sitting around in togas feeling sorry for themselves. They said it because embracing mortality is the ultimate performance enhancer.
Stoicism resonates with so many athletes because they intuitively know that 1) this won't last forever and 2) you can't control what happens after you throw the pitch, tap the putt, or shoot the shot. You only have control over what happens leading up to that point: the intense preparation, training, discipline, & concentration. So focus deeply on that. Perfect that. Because once the ball leaves your hands, you're often helpless.
Think about how you show up to a Game 7. Or a championship fight. Or the last day with someone you love. You're present. You're focused. The bullshit falls away. Suddenly, you know exactly what matters and what doesn't. There is no tomorrow.
That clarity is available to you every single day if you remember that the clock is ticking.
The Problem With Forever
Most leaders operate like they have unlimited runway. We'll get to that hard conversation eventually. We'll address the culture issues next quarter. We'll take that risk when the timing is better.
Except the timing is never better. And eventually never comes.
I've watched executives spend years tolerating mediocrity, avoiding conflict, playing it safe – all because they're acting like there's always tomorrow. Then one day they look up and realize they spent a decade building something they're not proud of, surrounded by people they don't respect, doing work that doesn't matter.
That's the cost of ignoring your mortality. Not death itself, but a slow erosion of everything that could have been meaningful.
Death as a Decision Filter
Here's a practical exercise: when you're facing a tough decision, ask yourself what you'd do if you only had a year left. Not in a reckless "YOLO!" way, but in a "what actually matters" way.
Would you still spend three hours in that status meeting? Would you still avoid giving that direct report the feedback they desperately need? Would you still pursue that acquisition just because the board wants growth?
Probably not.
Mortality doesn't just clarify what to do. It clarifies what to stop doing. And for most leaders, what you stop doing is more valuable than what you start.
The great catchers I worked with in baseball understood this instinctively. Every pitch could be their last. Not literally, but careers do end suddenly – one bad injury, one lost step. So they called every game like it mattered. They didn't save their best for later. There was no later guaranteed.
Building For After You're Gone
Ironically, acknowledging your mortality actually makes you a better long-term thinker.
When you accept that you are temporary, you stop building monuments to yourself. You stop making decisions based on how they'll make you look. You start asking: what will last after I'm gone?
That's when real culture gets built. Not the rah-rah stuff on the walls, but the self-policing culture that perpetuates itself. The kind where people hold each other accountable because it matters and they care, not because the boss is watching.
You can't build that if you're trying to be irreplaceable. You can only build it if you're actively working to make yourself obsolete.
The Freedom of Finite Time
The best thing about embracing your mortality is that liberates you from giving a damn about things that don't matter.
Ego trips. Political games. Saving face. Impressing people who don't matter. When you really internalize that your time is limited, all of that becomes background noise.
You get the freedom to be direct. To take risks. To fail spectacularly. Because what's the worst that happens? You wasted some of your finite time? Better to waste it swinging for the fences than slowly hemorrhaging it in mediocrity.
I'm not saying be reckless. I'm saying be intentional. There's a difference between not caring about consequences and not caring about criticism.
Your Legacy Isn't What You Think
What some leaders get wrong about legacy is tying it to what they accomplished. The deals they closed, the revenue they generated, the awards they won.
But nobody remembers that stuff. Or if they do, they don't care about it the way you think they should.
To paraphrase Maya Angelou, they remember how you made them feel. Whether you developed them or used them. Whether you told them the truth or blew smoke. Whether you showed up when it was hard or disappeared when it got messy.
That's the legacy you're building every single day, whether you realize it or not. And here's the thing: you can't game it. You can't manufacture it. You can only live it.
The only way to build a legacy worth having is to stop thinking about legacy and start thinking about impact. Today. Right now.
So What?
If all this seems heavy, good. It should be.
But it should also be energizing. Because once you accept that time is finite, you get to stop pretending. You get to stop performing. You get to stop optimizing for some future version of success that may never arrive.
You get to lead like someone who knows the truth: this is it. This is your shot. These are your people. This is your time.
Not forever. Just for now.
And "now" is all any of us really have.
So what are you going to do with it?