I think of dying every day... At a certain age, you should be

The words of August Wilson—“I think of dying every day... At a certain age, you should be prepared to go at any time.”—resound not as despair, but as a hymn of wisdom from one who had looked deeply into the nature of life. They are not the utterance of fear, nor the cry of resignation, but the calm acceptance of a soul that has made peace with its own impermanence. For Wilson, a playwright who gave voice to the spirit of his people, the thought of death was not a shadow to flee, but a teacher to heed. He understood what the ancients knew: that only those who contemplate their end learn how to live fully.

Born in the hills of Pittsburgh, August Wilson spent his life crafting plays that captured the blood and breath of the African American experience—the struggles, the laughter, the love, the faith. His words rose from the soil of suffering and the music of endurance. When he spoke of death, it was not abstract philosophy; it was truth observed from the front lines of human existence. He had watched friends and elders pass, had seen the brief flare of youth dim into memory, and he had learned that mortality is the great equalizer, stripping away all illusions of permanence. Thus, when he said he thought of dying every day, it was not morbid reflection—it was reverence for the fleeting.

In the manner of the ancients, Wilson’s quote is an invocation to awareness. The Stoics of old—Seneca, Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius—spoke often of memento mori, the remembrance of death. They urged men and women to hold the thought of mortality close, not to sadden the heart, but to sharpen the spirit. For when one knows that the day may be the last, trivial concerns fall away, and life’s true treasures come into focus. Wilson’s words flow from that same fountain of wisdom. To “be prepared to go at any time” is not to abandon life, but to live it with such fullness and grace that one could leave it without regret.

Consider Socrates, who, when sentenced to death, faced his end with serenity. He drank the hemlock calmly, speaking to his students of the immortality of the soul. His peace came from having lived according to truth; thus, when death came, it found him ready. August Wilson, too, reached that understanding. He had spent his years pouring life into words, giving voice to the voiceless, weaving beauty from hardship. And so, when he spoke of daily thoughts of death, he was not haunted—he was disciplined. He was training his heart to let go, so that when his hour arrived, he could step into eternity as one who had already made peace with it.

There is profound strength in this posture toward death. In an age that worships youth, longevity, and denial of mortality, Wilson’s words strike like lightning—reminding us that death is not an intruder, but a companion walking beside us all our days. The wise man acknowledges this companion and greets it without fear. The fool ignores it, and thus lives half-asleep. When Wilson said he thought of dying every day, he was in truth reminding himself to wake up—to cherish the laughter of morning, to write with urgency, to speak with honesty, to love without delay. Awareness of death, for him, was the key to a life of depth.

From his example, we may draw this lesson: do not wait until age or illness to think of your mortality. Begin now. To live well is to live ready—to keep your affairs of the heart in order, your words kind, your purpose clear. Each day, ask yourself: If I were to die tonight, have I lived true today? This is not morbid, but sacred. For those who live in readiness walk lighter, freer, unburdened by fear. The one who has made peace with dying has already learned the art of living without chains.

And so, let the teaching of August Wilson be passed down as wisdom to all generations: do not fear death—befriend it. Think of it each day, not to darken your soul, but to brighten it. Let the thought of your mortality remind you to forgive quickly, to love fiercely, to create bravely, and to leave behind a legacy worthy of remembrance. For death is not the end; it is the horizon beyond which our works continue to shine.

When your time comes, may you too be prepared—as Wilson was, as Socrates was, as all wise souls have been—to meet it not as a thief, but as an old friend. And until that hour, live each day with the clarity of one who knows his time is precious, for that, above all, is the secret of a life well-lived.