Why I Died Yesterday and Woke Up Alive Today

What I realized today is that I've been thinking I need some specific event or idea to write a journal entry.

Ah... when I look back on my day, I'm always searching for something special — an experience, an event, a feeling.

But thinking that way means I've already been living under the assumption that most of my everyday time isn't special at all.

I'd gone along with that assumption without ever questioning it, until today. While going through the same old thought — "I should journal, but what do I even write about?" — a different question suddenly surfaced:

"Why do I treat most of the time I spend as unremarkable, as if it holds no meaning?"

As the philosopher Wittgenstein once put it, most human beings — unless they undergo a near-death experience — never actually experience their own death. We only ever experience the deaths of others.

Which made me wonder: Could it be that I am continuing to live my life without ever truly experiencing my own death? What if I actually died yesterday by some strange coincidence, but only I failed to experience or remember it, and woke up to live today?

It is a moment that leaves me deeply humbled. There seems to be no end to the narrow limits of my perspective...

If it's true that I died yesterday, why am I alive and living again right now? I don't remember. Yet, an indescribable feeling serves as the answer instead.

If I'm going to be reborn again tomorrow, I probably won't remember this either. But still — what feeling will I leave behind for tomorrow's me?