Life is a fractal

The fact that our lives are finite — roughly limited to about a century at most — creates a kind of pressure on everything. Time has more meaning because we have a finite amount of it.

This pressure from the ends permeates down to every level, creating a kind of fractal. Every year becomes precious, and within that year every month.

In turn, each day becomes special because it receives that pressure. Within that day, we feel the importance of every hour, every minute and every second.

If we were to live forever, I wonder whether that pressure, pushing inward from the ends of life, would simply dissipate. Would each moment cease to be so precious?

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