Final Playlist: Sakamoto's Gift on the Shortness of Life
It's a peculiar aspect of human nature how we navigate the unwritten rules of social discourse. We're told not to discuss topics like sex, religion, and politics in polite company, yet these subjects increasingly find their way into conversations. But there's one topic that quiets even the most chatty: death. We dance around it, employing euphemisms like 'passed away' or 'no longer with us,' as if avoiding the word could somehow diminish its existence.
Four years ago, I first read Marcus Aurelius' "Meditations," which changed my perspective on life and death. The Stoic philosopher and Roman emperor reminded me that death is nothing to fear. Instead, it's a natural part of the human experience. By accepting the inevitability of death, I could strip away the superficial concerns that consumed me and concentrate on what matters: living a life of purpose, virtue, and meaning. Marcus Aurelius, like other Stoic philosophers of ancient Greece and Rome, sought to master the art of living and, in doing so, had a lot to say about dying.
Seneca reminds us to "prepare our minds as if we'd come to the very end of life" and to "balance life's books each day." And Epictetus advises keeping "death and exile before your eyes each day." Although undeniably wise, these words pale compared to the power of actively contemplating our mortality. It's not merely memorizing quotes or nodding in agreement; it's about internalizing that our time on Earth is finite and precious.
Letting the weight of that sink into our bones is perspective shifting. Suddenly, petty grievances and minor irritations fall away, and we're left with a clear sense of what's important. We can begin approaching life with renewed urgency and purpose.
Recently, I was moved by Ryuichi Sakamoto, the renowned Japanese composer, and musician who passed away in March 2023 at the age of 71. Sakamoto had been battling throat cancer since his diagnosis in 2021, yet he continued to create music from his home studio throughout his treatment. But it was Sakamoto's parting gift that struck a chord. After his passing, his management team shared a playlist he had been curating for his own funeral — a beautiful gesture that revealed a lot about his approach to life and his acceptance of death.
Though I'm not currently battling a life-threatening disease (at least not to my knowledge), the march of time still brings me closer to my ultimate destination. Inspired by Sakamoto's story, I've decided to start curating a "final playlist" of my own.
This project is of undetermined length — it started about a month ago and will be complete upon my last breath. Since we share many tastes, I began with Sakamoto's list, adding works by J.S. Bach, Claude Debussy, Ennio Morricone, Nino Roto, and others. I also included different pieces by some of the same artists, such as Bill Evans and Erik Satie.
Then, I added the most beautiful music I know of: Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings, Chopin's Ballade №1 in G. Minor, and Arvo Part's Spiegel Im Spiegel, for example. Initially, the playlist took on a somber tone, perhaps a subconscious reflection of my thoughts and fears surrounding death. However, as the playlist grew, I became more drawn to lively and vibrant music.
No longer a mournful elegy, the compilation came to represent the full spectrum of humanness. The slow, contemplative adagios contrasted with lively, energetic allegros. The inclusion of both long, expansive pieces and short, fleeting ones is a nod to the fact that life is not measured by its duration but by its depth. Orchestral works came to characterize human connection and how our lives are interwoven, while solo pieces underscored the importance of moments alone.
Through this process, I began listening to music more intently, my ears picking up subtleties I might have overlooked. This is particularly noticeable when I listen to certain music, such as Bach's fugues. Before, I heard beautiful melodies, but now I'm immersed in the contrapuntal, polyphonic beauty I missed. As the fugue unfolds, I listen to distinguish each voice, marveling at how they interact — sometimes in playful imitation, other times in blending harmony.
In a similar fashion, thinking about the shortness of life has heightened my awareness of the preciousness of each moment. The big milestones — weddings, birthdays, gatherings — take on a new significance. I find myself savoring these occasions. But more importantly, contemplating death has helped me appreciate the small, seemingly insignificant moments that make up most of our lives.
The morning cup of coffee, my daughter's laughter, the warmth of the sun on my skin—these everyday experiences may seem simple and unremarkable, like the music of Bach to the closed ear, but when aware, the beauty and significance of these moments are revealed. Now, I'm more likely to pause and take a deep breath, really taste my food, and fully listen to a friend. Because I know my days are numbered, I'm less likely to take these moments for granted.
For the rest of my life, however long it may be, I will continue refining my playlist. Each addition will make the playlist a more authentic representation of my understanding of beauty and what it means to be human.
I am grateful to Ryuichi Sakamoto for his gift — not only his incredible body of work but also the playlist that inspired me to contemplate my mortality. In the end, confronting death need not be morbid or fearful. Instead, it can be a catalyst for living more fully, authentically, and purposefully.
As I listen to my playlist, I hear Marcus Aurelius, "It is not death that a man should fear, but rather he should fear never beginning to live." With this in mind, I embrace each day as an opportunity to create, connect, and see beauty in the world.
If you are interested in listening, here is a link to the current version of my playlist: JV’s Final Playlist
