We Were Supposed to Live Forever
On the Boomer Dream of Living Forever — and What We’re Learning as It Fades
I am 81, old enough to remember post-World War II austerity, young enough to have believed in the promise of endless progress. And yet, here I am — lining up for another COVID vaccine, not for longevity, but for survival. We once believed medicine would make us immortal. Then came a virus that wasn’t even the worst in history, and we barely made it through.
We weren’t supposed to go out like this — shuffling forward in clinic lines, searching for one last miracle. Science was supposed to save us. We believed that if we lived long enough, the next medical breakthrough would keep us going a little longer, and the one after that would make sure we never had to stop. Some of us, like myself, hoped to ride that wave, catching the breakthroughs that would keep our bodies strong and our minds sharp forever.
The fantasy still lingers, though it has taken new forms. When we were younger, we thought science would stretch our lives indefinitely — just long enough for the next breakthrough to take us even further. Now, for a few true believers, the dream has taken on a new face. Some of the wealthiest among us have swapped life insurance for cryonics — why leave your estate to your kids when you can invest in your own resurrection? Freeze your brain or your body and wait. Someday, technology will be so advanced that when you wake up, there will be no need to work — no scarcity, no struggle. Just plenty for all.
The younger generations don’t seem as swept up in that particular dream, but they’ve found their own version. Now, it’s the tech elites — wealthy Gen Xers and Silicon Valley futurists — who have picked up where we left off. If science alone couldn’t make us live forever, maybe science enhanced by AI can. Maybe the right algorithm will finally enable medicine to do what we once prayed it would. And if the body won’t last, maybe the self will. Maybe if they collect enough data, map enough neurons, and train the right algorithm, they won’t need bodies at all.
Maybe that belief appeals to the young, still convinced they can outrun time. And, quietly, it speaks to those of us who once entertained the same hopes and now wonder: Did we give up too soon?
But most of us have let go of that dream. We’ve seen too many of our contemporaries pass away already. We’re not looking for resurrection anymore. We’re updating our wills. We’re helping friends downsize. We’re sitting in hospitals, attending more funerals than weddings. And with each new loss, we hear echoes of our own aging.
I remember when he had all his hair.
I remember when she could run up those stairs.
We see ourselves in them and wonder: How much time do I have left? And if time is running out, what have I done with it?
We started out as the generation of freedom, rejecting the stiff traditions of our parents. We weren’t going to follow the traditional life script. We wanted to be different — to shake off the old world, to reinvent what it meant to be young, to be alive.
But over time, freedom gave way to materialism. Some tied religion to prosperity — a divine justification for wealth and longevity. Others chased pleasure and indulgence, keeping youth alive through experiences, possessions, and reinvention. But by the time we hit our 50s and 60s, the cracks in the fantasy were showing.
Like the ancient Greeks, we started to see immortality in two ways:
- Ambrosia, the food of the gods, which granted eternal life.
- Nectar, the drink of youth, which kept you young but didn’t prevent death.
Boomers, too, had to accept that while youth could be stretched a little longer, real immortality was slipping further out of reach. For some, that realization was freeing. For many, it was terrifying.
We didn’t just look for immortality in medicine and culture — we wanted it in our leaders, too.
- JFK was the first prototype of the eternally young leader — vital, modern, forward-thinking. But his assassination shattered that illusion, and history later revealed that much of his image was built on convenience and backroom deals rather than true idealism.
- The Clintons, in their early years, represented another version of that dream — young, energetic, eager to reinvent the system with charm and emotional intelligence. But as time wore on, scandals and health issues chipped away at that image. By the time Bill Clinton had his heart surgeries, the fantasy of youthful invincibility had cracked.
- Then came Donald Trump. If the Clintons let go of the dream, Trump refused. He sells eternal youth, but not through science or progress. Instead, he offers emotional immortality — a world where time stands still, where nostalgia reigns, where aging is for losers. And if you can’t live forever, you sure as hell can be angry about it for as long as you live — and know exactly who to blame.
Boomers have watched their icons age, fade, and, in some cases, desperately resist the inevitable. Now, we face the hardest lesson of all: What happens when the dream ends?
For those for whom the dream of eternal life is over, what remains is a choice. Some will take the Murdoch model — grip power until the last breath, refuse to pass the torch, keep playing the game no matter the cost. Boomers still hold the wealth, still run the boardrooms, still sit in the halls of power. But for how long? And at what cost to society and the next generations?
Just as Boomers once believed they could perfect the world through reason and science, younger generations now believe they can solve it with AI and data. But certainty in such matters may be delusional. Someday, the algorithms will fail to predict the world, just as we failed to perfect it. And when they do, the question will remain:
What do we leave behind?
The other path is harder, but wiser. It means letting go — not just of power, but of the need to control what comes next. It means passing down something more than wealth or influence: perspective, kindness, adaptability.
Maybe that’s why Bob Dylan, after decades of wrestling with youth and mortality, found his personal sweet spot with the Traveling Wilburys in End of the Line:
“Well, it’s all right, riding around in the breeze…”
“It’s all right, if you live the life you please…”
Boomers won’t live forever. But we still have time to decide how we go out. Will we cling to a world that no longer belongs to us, or will we step back with grace, leaving behind something that matters?
Maybe the best lesson we can offer younger generations isn’t how to hold onto youth unrealistically, but how to live fully within our physical limits — embracing change without surrendering vitality until our body forces us to. Personally, I’d hate to be an 81-year-old give-up.
