If you live to be one hundred, you've got it made. Very few

In the sacred dance of life, there is a truth so simple yet profound that even the wisest among us can often overlook it: life is fleeting, fragile, and precious. The great comedian George Burns, with his characteristic wit and wisdom, once remarked, “If you live to be one hundred, you've got it made. Very few people die past that age.” These words, though laced with humor, carry within them a deep reflection on the nature of life and death, a gentle reminder that our time here is both a gift and a challenge.

What does it mean, then, to say that one “has it made” if they reach the age of one hundred? The statement is not so much about the luxuries or comforts that one might acquire in their later years, but about the rare privilege of having lived long enough to see the passing of time in all its fullness. To live to such an age is not a mere accident of biology, but a reflection of something much more profound—a victory over the uncertainties of existence, a testament to the strength and resilience of the human spirit. It is a life that has survived the storms, the trials, and the tribulations of an often unforgiving world. Living to a hundred is not merely a matter of accumulating years, but of gathering the wisdom of those years, living through countless seasons, and enduring when so many others have fallen.

Consider, if you will, the remarkable life of Methuselah, a figure from the ancient texts, who, according to legend, lived for 969 years. Though his years stretched far beyond what any mortal might hope to achieve, his existence serves as a symbol of something greater—of time’s mastery over man, and the incredible endurance of the human will. To live such a long life is a rare and sacred achievement, and while most of us may not reach the astounding age of Methuselah, we too share in the quest for longevity, not for mere survival, but for a life that is filled with meaning and accomplishment.

In Burns' words, we also hear a quiet recognition of the inevitability of death. For even as we might celebrate the blessings of long life, we must also acknowledge the delicate fragility of our existence. Few, indeed, make it past one hundred. The number itself is a reminder that all lives—whether long or short—are bound by an invisible thread that is frayed by time. Life is a gift, yet it is also a challenge. Every heartbeat, every breath, every passing moment is an opportunity to cherish what we have, for the passage of time is unstoppable, and the end of our days is known only to the fates.

This truth is powerfully reflected in the example of Leonidas, the great king of Sparta, whose life was cut short not by age but by his courage in battle. While his years were fewer than many, his legacy has lived on throughout history. He understood that a life well-lived is not measured in years alone but in the bravery, the choices, and the sacrifices made in the face of inevitable death. To live with purpose, to make each day count—this is the true essence of life, regardless of how many years we are granted.

From this, we learn a valuable lesson. The wisdom of George Burns is not in the simple observation that living a long life is a gift—this is a truth known to all—but in the realization that time is precious, and the most important thing is not how many days we have, but how we fill them. If we reach a ripe old age, let us not simply rejoice in the years themselves but in the lives we have touched, the wisdom we have gathered, and the love we have shared. Let us live fully, knowing that every moment is an opportunity to embrace life and cherish the present, for the future is never promised.

Thus, let us live with intent and gratitude, embracing each day with the understanding that time is the most fleeting and precious gift we possess. Do not squander it in the pursuit of empty things or the bitterness of regret, but instead, seek out the joys of the present, the meaning of our relationships, and the purpose of our actions. Whether we live to be one hundred or a mere fraction of that time, it is not the number of years that matters, but how we live them. And when the final curtain falls, may we look back, as George Burns did, and know that we truly had it made—not in the years we counted, but in the moments we lived.