Hello. It's Wednesday, November 11, 2026. And this is:

Why You Should Write Your Own Obituary

It was a pastime of my mom’s and mine during the pandemic. After I quit my desk job and left my roommates and my downtown apartment to try to find some respite in my parents’ comfortable suburban spaciousness, the Sunday morning breakfast of my childhood resumed: Mom’s scrambled eggs; Dad’s filtered coffee (this time, I was old enough to partake), and the newspaper, distributed among us, section by section.

Back in the day, my dad and brother would browse flyers from Best Buy and the now defunct Computer World. My sister and I would take turns reading the comics, arguing over who got the first look. And my mom, poised and elegant at the head of the table, would read the obituaries.

It was a curiosity I couldn’t understand. Lo, some 10-odd years later, bored and listless as I found myself back at my parents’ dining room table while my friends bought houses and adopted dogs with their partners, I too found myself reaching for the weekly obituaries.

Soon, my mom and I fell into a rhythm, taking turns poring over the columns, eagerly pointing out those we found most interesting. Rather than depressing me, these micro biographies of unknown local characters inspired me and made me wonder about what small but mighty feats I could pursue in my own life. Long a fan of reading biographies of celebrated public figures, I was fascinated by these small-scale accounts of everyday Jane and Joe Does. Seeing their stories down on paper made me realize I’d been writing my own obituary in my head on and off for years, musing about what I want to do in life, where I want to go, and — in a world where others one day might read my story — how I would like to be remembered.

I’ve since lost the habit over the years, but as I near 30 and resume contemplation about my place in this world and what I’m even supposed to be doing here, I’ve found writing my own obituary quite a soothing, dare I say, invigorating process. This is what it’s done for me:

Made me really think about what I’m doing

Life is short, and my late grandfather was right: The older we get, the faster time seems to move. As the days, months, and years whizz by, it’s easy to lose sight of what we’re even doing with all that time. Are we working towards a goal that fulfills us? Are we losing too many hours (and too much peace and sanity) to social media scrolling? Are we prioritizing time with those we cherish?

Time is probably the most precious commodity, and, like money, we don’t all have the same stock available in the coffers. Responsibilities take over our calendars, and we unknowingly fall in the work-eat-relax-resume cycle, losing entire weekends to recovery and evenings to digital numbing treatments.

Writing my own obituary now and again helps me see where all that time is going. It lets me step back and appreciate where I’ve been, what I’ve learned, and how I’ve grown. More importantly, it lets me look ahead to where I want to go next and what I can do now to make that vision real.

Consider the small acts that can make a big difference

Allow me to summarize a box story from season 6, episode 7 of the TV show, Grace & Frankie:

Robert is invited to attend the funeral of a former navy compatriot, one he barely remembers. The deceased’s family wants to honor Robert at the wake, causing him to believe they have mistaken him for the man who saved the deceased from a forsaken ship years ago. When he confesses to the widow that he was not the rescuer, she says she knows and explains to Robert how he unknowingly touched their lives: Years prior, the deceased had forgotten to polish his shoes, putting him at risk of losing his right to go off base for the weekend. Always fastidious, Robert couldn’t help but polish the deceased’s shoes for him, saving his liberty for the weekend. It was then that the deceased met his future wife. As the widow says to Robert at the wake, her husband used to tell their kids that story all the time: “You taught us how far a little kindness can go.”

Both Robert and I, the viewer, were moved to tears. While this is only a fictional account, it reminds me of the untold cinematic stories hidden in daily life. Each of us has the power to, even unknowingly, dramatically impact someone else’s path. When I write my own obituary and reflect on all the people who have shaped me — often in ways they don't realize — I can't help but wonder whose path I may have touched and how I can live a life that leaves positive ripples in its wake.

Appreciate that my job is not my identity

For some people, this is really the case. Their job is both hobby and source of income, a personal calling as much as it is a way to pay the bills. But most people, I’d venture, don’t fall into this category. And there is nothing wrong with that, because your job does not define who you are.

It was reading obituaries that helped me appreciate this reality. When I read highlights of strangers’ local charity work, their gardening endeavors, their sailboat-in-a-bottle collections, their athletic feats, and all manner of recreational pursuits, my eyes widened to the possibilities that lie beyond the scope of work. There are, in fact, many other ways to think about ourselves other than “writer” or “project manager” or “electrician.”

Yes, these titles are often how we introduce ourselves to others, and fulfilling all their duties can consume a considerable amount of our time, but they do not have to be all we are. When I stop to imagine my own obituary and what impressions I’d like to leave behind, it’s never one where I devoted my entire essence and energy to corporate emails and Slack exchanges. There are too many other beautiful things to do in my life. This practice reminds me to prioritize them.

Try it: Take stock of who you are, for now

The self is an ever-changing force. To keep it moving in the direction you want it to, it helps to pause every now and then and take stock of where you’ve been and where you are. What comes next is always yours to decide.

Here’s mine, for now:

Meredith Shubel, December 4, 1996—

Meredith Shubel was born in Rhode Island to an engineer father and a nurse mother, joining an older sister and brother. During childhood, her greatest pastimes were reading and writing, often found on the floor next to the dog she so begged her parents for, reading aloud to him. In high school, she was captain of the junior varsity field hockey team, editor of the yearbook, and secretary of the student honor council. Later, she attended the University of Rhode Island, from where she graduated with a triple major in writing & rhetoric, communication studies, and French. In her junior year, she spent a semester studying in Rennes, France, where she met the man who would one day become her husband. She worked consistently throughout university — in a bakery, as a tutor, as a teaching assistant, as a writing intern at a marketing agency and then at a public relations agency, where she worked full time after graduating. Initially, she turned down the job offer, so intent was she on moving across the country to Seattle or Colorado and starting a brand-new life for herself. With resigned practicality, she accepted the company’s second offer and moved to the state capital, where she rented a downtown apartment with three random roommates from Craig’s List. Meredith remembers this time as one of her happiest, traveling often and spending many nights out gallivanting with friends. After a year, however, she grew restless and formed the idea to return to France to pursue a master’s degree. It was at this time she began a romance with her now-husband. When the COVID-19 pandemic struck, she moved (temporarily, she thought) back to her parents’ to work remotely before moving to Marseille, where she was accepted at the university to study literature. Due to pandemic restrictions, she would stay with her parents for over a year, eventually quitting her desk job to work as a barista in a local café, creating what would turn out to be another one of the most beautiful years of her life. In September 2021, she moved to Toulouse, France, where she moved in with her now-husband and took intensive French classes. A year later, she enrolled in a master’s program in creative writing at l’Université Toulouse - Jean Jaurès and got married. Two years after that, she completed her degree, moved to Paris, and began working full time as a freelance writer. To be continued.

I’ve always loved turning to others’ stories for inspiration for my own. It assures me that we can always get through a difficult time, no matter how troubling. And of course, reading obituaries is a poignant reminder that life passes quickly and we shouldn’t waste the days waiting to be happy.

Continue reading with a few memoirs to remind you of what's possible in life.

Then, why not try writing your own life story?

P.S. Besides the local obituaries, there are other reasons why it’s worth reading the newspaper again.

Thanks for reading.

Be well,

Merry

Written at my desk in Paris, France.

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