My life as a mayfly, a man, an immortal jellyfish
You might live for five minutes. You might live forever.
There are many benefits to reading with your kids, but an underrated one is this: You get to learn (or relearn) things you ought to know.
While I admit to occasionally giving a very average effort during bed time stories if I’m tired or just not into a book that I’ve read a hundred times already, a recent trip to the library for a new batch of books about animal facts for my 4-year-old son became a journey for both of us.
I have to admit that I was not prepared for the facts contained within Eric Carle’s “The Very Hungry Caterpillar’s Very First Animal Encyclopedia.”
We arrived at Page 30 (after gently encouraging him one night that we didn’t have to start over at Page 1 every time) and a section about animal life spans.
“Time flies for mayflies,” the book somewhat too cheerily announced at the beginning of that section. “They live for just one, very busy day. Within 24 hours they are born, find a mate, make babies and die.”
They do? How is that possible? Did I already know this at some point and then let it slip out of my memory to retain something far more important (like the words to “All Star” by Smash Mouth)?
We then learned that bowhead whales can live to be 200, impressive but not bonkers. A giant barrel sponge can be more than 2,000 years old, which is wild. And then tucked away in a corner, there was the subheading “everlasting life.”
“The tiny turritopsis, also called called the immortal jellyfish, can regrow its whole body to repair itself,” the section reads. “So, as long as it keeps from being eaten, this jellyfish could live forever!”
My son soon fell asleep, but I was wide awake. I soon repeated the mayfly fact to my wife and started blathering on about this immortal jellyfish.
The next day I did some more basic research just to confirm some facts, and it only took me deeper into my own head.
The mayfly
As one might expect, facts about the mayfly were condensed for the one short paragraph they were given in the book. But the basic premise was more or less true.
While a mayfly can live for a year or more as an immature nymph, their adult lives last no more than a couple of days.
And that’s if it’s a male mayfly. An adult female mayfly’s life lasts five minutes. That seems like relevant information, given that 48 hours is 576 times as long as five minutes — the equivalent of a female living two months and a male living a little over 100 years.
My life as a mayfly: Hello, world. I have some terrific news and some terrible news. Today is both my birthday and my death day.
I’m a simple creature, and I suppose I don’t know any better, so don’t feel bad for me. This is just how it is. I plan to do as much living as possible in the time I have here.
Namely, that means reproducing so that my species can continue this cycle of brief life. I don’t have much time to think about how strange this is or to have any regrets.
I just know that I have been put here for a purpose, and I must achieve that purpose in a very short amount of time — but no shorter than any other mayfly that has come before me or will come after me.
I guess that’s strangely beautiful, in a way.
Good-bye.
The man
The average life expectancy in the United States, at least by the most recent measure, is 76.1. That has declined by about three years since 2019, and the figures for males vs. females are even more stark (as I wrote about previously).
For U.S. females, life expectancy is 79.1 years, while for males it’s 73.2 years. That’s not quite a mayfly-like gap, but the numbers are alarming.
Will Leitch, whose Substack I look forward to every Saturday, wrote this week about his father turning 75. My own father recently turned 70.
Nothing about either of them is suggestive of an end that is near, but … the years start coming and they don’t stop coming.
My life as a man: I’m 47, which by a lot of definitions is “middle-aged.” That term is supposed to define the middle of adulthood, not the middle of life, which perhaps is a little reassuring.
But is it too optimistic? Too pessimistic? If I became an adult at 18, I’ve been an adult for 29 years. If I’m an adult for 29 more years, I’ll be 76 — past the point at which the average U.S. adult male is supposed to live these days.
Are we too concerned with quantity of life and not enough concerned with quality of life — both in terms of the number of health and happy years we have vs. just years and also in terms of truly living vs. going through the motions of life?
Will I, unlike the mayfly, spend too much of my life pondering the points along the way and worrying about what comes next instead of vigorously living out my purpose every day?
The immortal jellyfish
When you search Google for the immortal jellyfish, it lists its lifespan as “potentially forever,” which is again just the most mind-bending concept.
Basically, if this kind of jellyfish gets sick or old or injured, it can revert back to its polyp stage and regrow its cells, essentially starting its life over again. Wikipedia gives a clean summary of this: “Theoretically, this process can go on indefinitely, effectively rendering the jellyfish biologically immortal.”
Jellyfish have been around for a half billion years. Is there a jellyfish currently alive that’s been living for a million years? A hundred million years?
Maybe!
But also, probably not? This never-ending life has not been observed, and an immortal jellyfish is still mortal if it gets eaten by another sea creature or is overcome by disease.
But also: Maybe!
My life as an immortal jellyfish: This is amazing. I’m going to live forever. If I run into a spiky sea creature, or if I just get a little old, I’m going straight back to the youngest form of myself.
I also have to be careful. They say I’m immortal, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be killed. That doesn’t quite seem fair or correct.
In order to preserve my immortality, I hide in the darkest corners of the part of the ocean I occupy. I only go out for food (plankton, fish eggs, maybe a mollusk) and I always look around before scurrying back to my hiding spot.
This will go on forever, as long as I’m cautious and maybe a bit lucky.
I do have some questions, though:
Am I really living if all I can do is hide?
Am I really immortal if, when I reset and start over, I can’t remember the life I’ve already lived?
Is this immortality or reincarnation?
Does any of it matter if nobody remembers me?
"To be or not to be." You're right to pose the question of quantity vs. quality of life. Do we get a prize for living long or living well? And don't prizes come in many forms--winning money, feeling physically well, having the warmth of family and friends enhance our time alive--which seem to translate to "llving well?" Too many people have merely "careful" lives, just working day-to-day and settling in front of their screens for the remainder of the time. Yet, experts point to sociality as a major element in aging well. So it's important to cultivate friendships, drive many hours to see family, and make other connections in the world of people. Are such moves dangerous? They can be, in numerous ways. But living transcends existing.