I didn’t realize how much mainstream support there was for eternal life until I had dinner with a friend who, it’s worth noting, is even more traditional than I am—he’s not even on Twitter.
“I interviewed this guy who wants to live forever,” I said. “Isn’t that wild?”
“What do you mean?” my friend asked. “You don’t want to live forever?”
If he never died, he explained, he could finally pursue all the hobbies and dreams he’s never had time for. Even alternate careers, like architecture. (He’s a lawyer.) He’s never quite understood calculus, but with all the time in the world, he could master it. He would take a sabbatical every four years to travel the world.
I’ll admit, his passion for a long life of solving integrals and kayaking through rainforests did drag me closer to the immortality corner. Even if I extended my life by just a few years, I could finally get to the bottom of my Netflix and Pocket queues.
And I had been silently dismissing life-extension enthusiasts’ spiels about seeing their great-great-grandkids grow up, since I don’t have kids and probably never will.
But—but—if I was certain I could stay sharp and energetic well into my 90s, maybe my stance on motherhood would change.
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