Memento mori practice for beginners: a calm, secular starter routine

“Memento mori” is Latin for “remember that you will die”. Said like that, it sounds like something carved on a tomb. In practice it is closer to a gentle tap on the shoulder: this ordinary Tuesday is one of a limited number, so spend it on purpose.

If you have searched for how to start, you have probably found long newsletters or devotional routines. This page is a plain, secular starting kit. It takes a few minutes a day, needs no special beliefs, and you can adjust it up or down depending on how it feels.

Why the Stoics bothered

For the Stoic philosophers, remembering death was a tool for living, not a mood. Epictetus told his students to keep death “daily before your eyes”, and gave the reason: it stops you from craving things too eagerly or sinking into mean, petty thoughts (Enchiridion 21, Carter translation).

Seneca made the same point in bookkeeping terms. “Let us balance life’s account every day,” he wrote to his friend Lucilius, adding that someone who does this “is never in want of time” (Letter 101, Gummere translation). Marcus Aurelius, writing private notes to himself, put it more bluntly: “Do not act as if thou wert going to live ten thousand years” (Meditations 4.17, Long translation).

Notice what these lines have in common. None of them asks you to imagine your funeral in detail. They ask you to take today seriously. If you want the wider framework these ideas belong to, our guide to Stoicism for everyday life covers it.

What modern research adds (and what it doesn’t)

There is not much direct research on memento mori as a daily habit, so be wary of strong claims. One small line of work is suggestive. In a 2011 study in the Journal of Positive Psychology, researchers from Eastern Washington University and Hofstra University asked people either to picture their daily routine, to write in general terms about death, or to vividly imagine dying in a building fire. According to a summary by the Greater Good Science Center, only the vivid imagining group showed a clear rise in gratitude afterwards (Greater Good, 2011).

The same summary flags the limits: the effect was measured only in the short term, and repeating such an intense exercise could be draining rather than helpful. That is why the routine below stays light for daily use and keeps anything vivid for occasional, deliberate moments.

A starter routine in four parts

You do not need all four parts at once. Start with the first two for a week, then add the others if they appeal.

1. A one-line morning prompt (30 seconds)

Before you check your phone, say or write one sentence. Some options:

• “This day will not come again.”
• “If this were my last ordinary day, what would I not want to waste it on?”
• “Today I get to…” followed by one thing you are looking forward to.

Marcus Aurelius suggested something similar: since you could leave life at any moment, let that shape “every act and thought” (Meditations 2.11, Long translation). The point is direction, not drama.

Example: Priya, a nurse on early shifts, writes “This day will not come again” on a sticky note by the kettle. On a hard morning it reminds her that the five minutes with her daughter before school are not filler.

2. A two-minute evening review

Seneca recommended treating each day as if it closed a series, and going to sleep able to say “I have lived” (Letter 12, Gummere translation). A simple modern version:

1. Sit somewhere quiet for two minutes. Set a timer if that helps.
2. Ask: What today was worth being alive for? Name one or two moments, however small.
3. Ask: What did I spend time on that I would not choose again? Note it without scolding yourself.
4. Ask: Is there anything I would want said or settled if I did not wake up? If yes, put it on tomorrow’s list.

Example: Tom realises the best part of his day was ten minutes talking to a colleague about her garden, and the worst was an hour of arguing in a comment thread. He does not need a resolution; noticing is enough to start shifting the balance.

3. A physical cue

Choose one small object that you will see every day: a stone on your desk, an old watch that no longer runs, a photo of a grandparent, a phone lock screen with a single word on it. Each time you notice it, take one breath and ask, “Is this how I want to spend this hour?”

Change the cue every few months. Familiar objects fade into the background, and a fresh one works better.

4. The “last time” exercise (once a week)

Pick an ordinary activity and quietly consider that, one day, you will do it for the last time and probably not know it. Reading your child a bedtime story. Walking the dog on your usual route. A phone call with your father.

You are not trying to feel sad. You are trying to be fully present for this one. Many people find that the activity looks quite different with that frame, and that they slow down without being told to.

An optional extra: life in weeks

Some people like a visual: a grid with one small box for each week of a long life, filled in up to today. Seeing that a summer or a school year is a countable handful of boxes can make priorities very clear. Others find it stressful. Try it once and keep it only if it leaves you motivated rather than anxious.

Making it easier or harder

Easier: use only the morning line, and choose a warm version (“Today I get to…”). Skip the “last time” exercise until the habit feels comfortable. Practise in daylight rather than late at night, when thoughts tend to be heavier.

Harder: extend the evening review to five minutes and write it down. Once a month, spend ten minutes on a more vivid reflection, such as writing a short letter to someone you love as if it might be your last. Seneca’s advice to “think on death”, which he borrowed from Epicurus, came with the reminder that whoever has learned to die “has unlearned slavery” (Letter 26, Gummere translation): fear loses some of its grip.

When to set it down

Memento mori is meant to make life feel more vivid, not more frightening. If you are grieving, unwell or going through a hard period, it may not be the right practice just now, and that is fine. If thinking about death brings up distress, grief or thoughts of harming yourself, pause and talk to someone you trust or a professional; in an emergency, call your local emergency number.

Where this leads

Practised lightly, memento mori tends to show up in small decisions: replying to a friend instead of scrolling, leaving work on time for once, saying the kind thing now rather than later. If it nudges you toward the conversations and plans you keep postponing, our piece on what people regret at the end of life is a useful companion. And when the reflection turns up worries you cannot do anything about, the dichotomy of control helps you sort what is yours to act on from what is not.