Last month, The New York Times ran an opinion piece titled, “You Are Going to Die,” written by Tim Kreider. In it, he said:

You are older at this moment than you’ve ever been before, and it’s the youngest you’re ever going to get. The mortality rate is holding at a scandalous 100 percent. Pretending death can be indefinitely evaded with hot yoga or a gluten-free diet or antioxidants or just by refusing to look is craven denial. ‘Facing it, always facing it, that’s the way to get through,’ Conrad wrote in ‘Typhoon.’ ‘Face it.’ He was talking about more than storms.

Baby boomers are often accused of trying to become the first generation to escape death. But lots of baby boomers, including this one, have also read Carlos Castaneda’s books about Yaqui shaman don Juan Matus and remember don Juan’s suggestion that Castaneda take death—which is “always to our left, at an arm’s length”—as an adviser.

Death is the only wise adviser that we have. Whenever you feel, as you always do, that everything is going wrong and you’re about to be annihilated, turn to your death and ask if that is so. Your death will tell you that you’re wrong; that nothing really matters outside its touch. Your death will tell you, ‘I haven’t touched you yet.’

Castaneda claimed don Juan also told him:

One of us here has to ask death’s advice and drop the cursed pettiness that belongs to men that live their lives as if death will never tap them.

I wonder if that’s true. If we asked death’s advice, if we took death as a “wise adviser,” would doing so allow us to drop our cursed pettiness?