"It Is Not That We Have a Short Time to Live: What Seneca Meant—And Why It Matters When We Grieve"

A solemn bronze statue of Seneca the Younger stands in partial shadow, illuminated by a soft, golden light against a textured stone wall. Draped in a traditional Roman toga, he clutches a scroll in one hand and gestures toward his chest with the other—symbolizing both inner reflection and philosophical authority. The folds of his robe cascade with weight and realism, evoking timeless stoic dignity. The setting is dim, reverent, and austere, echoing the essence of Memento Mori: wisdom forged in darkness, presence carved through mortality.

“It is not that we have a short time to live, but that we waste much of it.”
— Seneca, On the Shortness of Life

If you’ve landed here, maybe you typed that quote into a search bar.
Maybe you felt time slipping through your fingers.
Maybe someone you love has just died, and the days now feel like stolen light.
Or maybe you're alive, but not really living—and that truth stung hard enough to send you looking.

You are not alone.
Seneca knew this ache 2,000 years ago.
We waste what we think is endless. We hoard what we should spend.
And by the time death knocks, most of us are not out of time—we’re out of meaning.

The Truth Buried in the Line

Seneca’s quote isn’t a complaint. It’s a confession about human nature.
He’s not blaming time for being short. He’s blaming us for letting it rot.

We postpone love until it feels safe.
We wait to say what we mean until it's too late.
We spend days numbing out—scrolling, working, worrying—thinking there will always be more time.

And then:
Someone dies.
Or we change in a way that feels like a death.
Or we wake up one morning and realize… we’ve been sleepwalking for years.

Seneca’s voice rises like a whisper behind the eyes:

“You were never running out of time. You were just never paying attention to how you spent it.”

For the Ones Who Grieve

Grief teaches what we refuse to learn while life is still warm.

When someone dies, we suddenly see how precious a single ordinary day was.
We replay small moments—
the sound of their footsteps,
the way they laughed at their own bad jokes,
how they brewed their coffee with too much sugar.

We don’t miss their accomplishments.
We miss their presence.

And that’s where Seneca cuts deep:
We are not mourning the shortness of life.
We are mourning the parts we didn’t live fully while we had the chance.

A Message for the Living

If you’re reading this while still breathing, it’s not too late.

To speak what’s been buried.
To show up like time isn’t guaranteed.
To love someone while they're still here.

Because what makes life feel short isn't the ticking clock—
it's regret.

Seneca’s quote isn’t just Stoic wisdom.
It’s a call to urgency.

And if you're grieving, it's a reminder to carry their name not just in sorrow—but in action.
To live more vividly because they cannot.

How This Ties to My Work

As a eulogy writer, I sit with the stories people never got to tell.
I help put words to the memory of a life that is no longer being lived—but still felt.

Sometimes, those left behind say:

“I wish I had told them how much they meant.”
“I thought I had more time.”
“I didn't realize how short it was.”

But it’s not too late to honor them now.

And it’s never too late to start honoring the living.

Based in Los Angeles, serving clients worldwide. Visit: www.mementomorimemorials.com
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