Memento Mori: A Stoic Reminder to Treasure What Matters

 

Memento Mori means “Remember you must die.”

Sounds morbid, but it’s not. It’s one of the most life-giving reminders I’ve ever come across. The phrase traces back to ancient Rome, where it served a very particular purpose—and it’s still just as relevant today, whether you’re leading an empire or just trying to keep your inbox under control.

The Roman Parade

When victorious generals returned to Rome after using empires and tribes like piñatas, they didn’t sneak in quietly. No, they were welcomed with the ancient version of a New York City ticker-tape parade—but Roman style.

Picture crowds lining the streets, tossing olive branches instead of confetti. No glass skyscrapers overhead—just towering columns, colosseums, and aqueducts in the background. The general rode through the city, soaking in the celebration.

But right beside him, a single person walked close—someone chosen for one job: to whisper in the general’s ear as the crowd roared.
Memento Mori. Memento Mori.
Remember, you must die.

It wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t a curse. It was a gift. A reminder that even the highest moment of glory is temporary. That no matter how big your win, you’re still mortal. And time is still moving.

The Bracelet on My Wrist

I wear my own reminder—a bracelet my youngest daughter made for me. It’s simple. Beads on a string. It says, “I love you, Daddy.”

She gave it to me four months ago.
In that time, a small shift happened.

I became “Dad.”

The bracelet still says “I love you, Daddy,” but its maker no longer does. That version of Amelia—the one who said “Daddy” with a bounce and no sense of time—is gone. And she’s never coming back.

That chapter is closed. A new one has begun.

But here’s the thing: I knew it was coming.

Every time she called me “Daddy,” I listened like it might be the last time. I valued it. I soaked it in. Not in a dramatic, slow-motion way—but with quiet awareness. With presence.

That’s Memento Mori.
Not a call to despair.
A call to attention.

As Marcus Aurelius wrote:

“You could leave life right now. Let that determine what you do, and say, and think.”

We don’t know how much time we have.
All we know for sure is that we have today.
This moment. This breath.

So yes—plan for the future. Be responsible.
But treasure the present. Be here. Be human.

An Action Worth Taking

Here’s the invitation:

• • Figure out what truly matters to you.
    

• • Realize that it will either end, or you will.
    

• • Value it while you can.
    

If it’s a thing, enjoy it.
If it’s a hobby, do it.
If it’s a person, tell them.

Nothing lasts forever.
So hold on—but not too tightly.

Memento Mori.