Your days are numbered. Suppose you could know how many you have left?
In nearly every manner, these boxes were identical. All were dark brown in color, with reddish tints, cool and smooth to the touch. And inscribed on every box was a simple, yet cryptic message, written in the native tongue of its recipient: The measure of your life lies within. Within each box was a single string, initially hidden by a silvery white piece of delicate fabric, so even those who lifted the lid would think twice before looking at what lay underneath. As if the box itself were warning you, trying to protect you from your own childish impulse to immediately tear away the wrapping. As if the box were asking you to pause, to truly contemplate your next move. Because that one could never be undone. Indeed, the boxes varied on only two accounts. Each small chest bore the name of its individual recipient, and each string inside measured a different length. But when the boxes first arrived that March, amid the fear and the confusion, nobody quite understood what the measure truly meant. At least, not yet.
Erlick, Nikki. The Measure: A Novel (p. 2). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.
These boxes first arrived in March to everyone over 21 and then they arrived at each person’s twenty first birthday. The recipients soon discovered that the length of the string in the box indicated the length of the recipient's life. A long string meant a long life and a short string a short life.
Once the recipients of the boxes learned how to measure the strings to know more precisely how much time they had left, the question arose about whether a person wanted to know? Would they choose to open their box and measure their string or not? Would you want to open your box and find out the length of your life? Of your loved ones? Of you co-workers and neighbors? Of other people on whom you depend to get some of your needs met?
The Measure raises many further interesting questions such as:
What kinds of problems do you think knowing the length of people’s lives would introduce into your life, your family, society?
Does knowing your lifespan limit your freedom or empower you to live more intentionally and with more vigor?
Would knowing your approximate date fill you with despair and nihilism or fill you with appreciation and gratitude for the life you have and its preciousness?
How might knowing people’s death dates contribute to social inequalities and problems with social justice?
How would knowing your lifespan affect your relationships with loved ones?
What would you predict would be different reactions to the knowledge of one’s lifespan?
I turned 79 on my last birthday on 12/25/45. I learned that the life expectancy of a US Caucasian male in 2022 was 75. I am 4 years past my life expectancy. I am living on “borrowed time.” Each day is a gift. Am I making the best use of it? Am I worthy of it? Why do I get this extra time while over half of my peers don’t? To what extent should I feel survivor's guilt? Receiving this additional time do I have additional responsibilities and obligations to human kind?