What are your thoughts on the concept of living a very long life?
The idea of living a very long life doesn’t scare me, but it also doesn’t comfort me the way it seems to for others. Time, on its own, doesn’t mean much. It’s what fills the time that determines whether a long life feels like a gift or a quiet sentence. I don’t measure life by years lived, but by moments that actually felt like living.
A long life only feels appealing if it allows room for growth, rest, and change. I’ve already learned that survival can stretch time into something heavy and exhausting. Existing for the sake of existing isn’t enough. I want years that soften me, not ones that demand I harden just to endure them.
I think I care less about how long life lasts and more about whether I’m allowed to live honestly within it. To feel deeply. To heal in layers. To love without pretending it doesn’t hurt sometimes. If a long life gives me space for that, then I welcome it. If it doesn’t, I’d rather live fewer years fully awake than many years on autopilot.
In the end, I don’t wish for a long life. I wish for a true one.
Reading Trauma Mama: Velvet & Taboo 