We are born, we live, we disappear. One of the chilling aspects

“We are born, we live, we disappear. One of the chilling aspects of history is the swiftness with which it carries us into oblivion.” – David Ebershoff

In this haunting reflection, David Ebershoff speaks to the frailty of human existence and the merciless flow of time. His words echo like a whisper across centuries, reminding us that life, for all its color and triumph, is but a flicker in the vastness of history. We come into the world with breath and promise, we move through its currents with passion and purpose, and then—so swiftly—we are gone, swept into the endless tide of memory and forgetting. His insight is not meant to inspire despair, but awareness: to awaken the soul to the brevity of its moment under the sun, and to the sacred urgency of what we choose to do with that moment.

To say that we “disappear” is not to deny the meaning of life; it is to confront the truth that meaning must be forged, not inherited. History, vast and indifferent, buries empires as easily as it buries the names of peasants. The marble fades, the parchment burns, and the monuments crumble. Yet, within this truth lies the power of human will — for though oblivion awaits, we possess the ability to leave traces of light in its shadow. We cannot halt the passage of time, but we can fill it with purpose, courage, and beauty.

Ebershoff’s words find their origin in the ancient lament of humanity itself — that longing to endure beyond death, to be remembered. The poets of Greece sang of it; the pharaohs of Egypt built for it; the prophets and warriors of every age have wrestled with it. Yet the lesson of history is clear: those who chase immortality through power are forgotten, while those who give themselves in service, creation, and love endure beyond their years. Oblivion does not fear the conqueror, but it yields before the one who plants seeds in the hearts of others.

Consider the tale of Hypatia of Alexandria, the philosopher and mathematician of the ancient world. She lived at a time when learning was fading into superstition, when knowledge was threatened by violence. Though her life was brief and her death cruel, her devotion to truth became a beacon that outlived the very empire that destroyed her. Her scrolls burned, her body perished — but her spirit endured in every scholar who dared to think freely after her. She was “carried into oblivion” by time, yet her light broke through its veil. Thus, Ebershoff’s warning transforms into hope: that while history may erase our names, it cannot erase the echo of what we stood for.

The “swiftness” of time is indeed chilling, but it is also a gift. It reminds us that life cannot be hoarded, only spent. Every heartbeat is a currency, every action a stroke upon the vast canvas of existence. We cannot slow the river, but we can choose how we swim — whether we drift aimlessly or move with intention toward goodness, wisdom, and truth. To live as though time were infinite is to waste it; to live as though it were fleeting is to sanctify it.

The wise, then, do not fear oblivion; they fear living without meaning. They understand that even a single moment of kindness, a single work of beauty, a single act of courage can defy the erasure of centuries. For history forgets the names of most, but it never forgets the light they bring into the world. The sculptor’s hand turns to dust, but the form he gave endures; the poet’s voice falls silent, but his words continue to breathe.

So take this truth into your own heart: you will disappear, but you need not be lost. Live as though your days were embers, glowing brightly before the night. Do not seek to be remembered by name, but by impact. Love deeply. Build wisely. Speak truth even when it trembles in your throat. And when the tide of history comes to carry you away, as it must, it will find that you have already transcended it — not by resisting oblivion, but by transforming your brief life into something eternal.

For though we are born and we vanish, it is not the disappearance that defines us — it is what we ignite in the space between.