Do We Live to Die or Die to Live?

This week, life threw me a reminder I didn’t ask for. A loved one passed away, and suddenly, I found myself questioning something we all tend to push aside: do we live just to die, or do we die so we can truly live? It’s a question that lingers in the air when we talk about purpose, about meaning. But it’s made me wonder—are we really living, or just getting by?

Lately, I’ve been caught in a whirlwind of emotions. From country to country, trying to find a version of myself I could be happy with. And just when I thought I’d finally arrived, life shifts. Funny, isn’t it? When everything feels settled, there’s always a storm brewing just out of sight. And when you’re in the middle of that storm, peace seems just one step away. It’s the strange balance of life—never too secure, never too certain, but always moving.

Most people aren’t living. They’re just waiting, hoping for a better day that always feels slightly out of reach. I know I was. After university, I fell into a job that drained me, and every day felt like a countdown to something else. But when you finally find contentment, you realize life’s fragility. Death doesn’t wait for your plans or your happiness—it lingers, quietly reminding you of its presence. And maybe that’s the point: you begin to notice the details—the fleeting conversations, the warmth in a brief embrace. These small moments become everything, because they are everything.

I’ve also come to see that people—whether good or bad—enter your life for a reason. And when a good one leaves, without warning, it leaves a different kind of mark. My loved one passed in the fall, their favorite season. It feels fitting. I’ll carry the memory of jumping through leaves with them, of long walks and conversations that now feel even more precious. I’ll hold on to those last two hours we spent talking, unaware of how final they were. It’s moments like that which make you realize how delicate life is, how it slips through your fingers while you’re busy trying to hold on to everything else.

As you get older, you start to see the fragility of it all, and maybe that’s when you truly start to live. So, are we living with intent, or simply passing through? What do you think?