I don’t know what is more terrifying: the prospect of death or immortality. Fortunately, I don’t really have to worry about it.
But if I did? I’d write more books, take more pictures. And take my time. I’d slow down and enjoy every single minute. I can hardly imagine how much material I’d have. An eternity of experiences. Time to travel everywhere, see everything — and take pictures of all of it. I’d need a really huge hard drive.
How would I fix the world? I wouldn’t. No thanks. The world needs more help than I could ever give it, no matter how long I lived. Immortality doesn’t necessarily confer wisdom. Or power. God’s having trouble keeping up with the problems of planet Earth. I doubt I could do better.
Maybe I could brighten a few lives, make some people smile, give a bit of good advice. Suggest things worth doing to those who might listen — most would not. (Listen, I mean.)
The gift — if indeed it is a gift — of immortality doesn’t confer godhood or godlike powers. Nor does it guarantee I would understand the world, the meaning of life or myself any better than I do now.
I am not a deity nor do I aspire to godhood. Way too much responsibility. No. Thank. You.
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