Why I Set Up a Death Countdown on My Phone
How a simple timer gave me something extreme routines couldn’t.
It started with a post.
Scrolling through the usual mix of updates and insights, I came across multi-millionaire anti-death activist Bryan Johnson’s cast/tweet/whatever you want to call it, detailing a daily routine that read more like a laboratory protocol than a lifestyle:
I get that there’s a certain wry humour at work here.
But don’t let that fool you.
Johnson is dead serious about not dying.
For me, Johnson’s extreme biohacking regimen represents the modern obsession with control — an attempt to defy the passage of time and seize some kind of mastery over the aging process.
And I can’t shake the feeling that something essential is being lost in the process.
It brought to mind a central theme in Oliver Burkeman’s Four Thousand Weeks: the illusion that one day, we’ll finally have everything under control, that we’ll finally win the war against time.
Burkeman argues that this fantasy of total control is both unachievable and deeply misguided. He writes,
“The day will never arrive when you finally have everything under control.”
The pursuit of perfection — whether in health, productivity, or time management — is a losing battle.
Our limited time on this earth, roughly 4,000 weeks (if we’re that fucking lucky) demands a different mindset: not of domination over time, but of acceptance.
I realized that my unease with Johnson’s regimen stemmed from its refusal to acknowledge a simple truth: time cannot be beaten.
And if we are constantly striving to extend our lives, to optimize our routines, to somehow ‘win’ at life, are we really living at all?
Inspired by Burkeman’s reminder that “the real measure of any time management technique is whether or not it helps you neglect the right things,” I found myself compelled to look for a different approach.
That’s when I decided to set up a mortality countdown timer on my phone’s home screen.
Not as some kind of morbid, grim reminder of death, as a tool to refocus my attention on what really matters.
A glance at the ticking numbers forces me to reckon with the finite nature of life, to be intentional about how I spend my remaining time.
Each decision, as Burkeman notes, is a small farewell to other possibilities. My time is limited, and that’s precisely why it’s so fucking valuable.
The idea didn’t come out of nowhere. I’ve always found a countdown is a good way to build the anticipation and appreciation of true joy.
It’s the kid in me that still marks off the days till Christmas, till my birthday, till I get to travel again.
So it wasn’t too much of a leap to add a countdown to the great unknown.
The Life Expectancy Countdown Timer
Setting up the countdown was a straightforward process. I researched the average life expectancy for a woman in Australia — 85 years — and entered my birth date into an iPhone/iPad widget called Countdown.
EDIT
A few folks have asked me for a good Android alternative, and I’ve tested out some options. My favourite is Pretty Progress which is currently in early access, and it’s gorgeous!
The result was a number that felt surprisingly tangible: roughly 18,000 days left to live. It’s easy to be lulled into the assumption that life stretches on endlessly, but this countdown offers a different perspective.
The effect is subtle, almost meditative; it doesn’t dominate my thoughts, but it does act as a quiet undercurrent, pulling me back to the reality that each day fucking matters.
The countdown timer has a way of breaking time down into a currency that feels real. It’s one thing to say you have decades left to live; it’s quite another to see that number shrink with each passing day.
It’s like Kevin Kelly, a technologist and writer, once said,
“As of today, I have 8,500 days left to live. That’s not much in my book. I can almost hear them ticking away as we speak.”
The life extension movement, epitomized by figures like Bryan Johnson, embodies a growing desire to push the boundaries of human lifespan. Johnson’s approach is emblematic of this conceit: a meticulously orchestrated regimen of biohacking that includes daily injections, plasma infusions, and continuous health monitoring. His relentless pursuit of longevity represents the extreme end of a philosophical shift, one that views aging as a problem to be solved rather than a natural process to be accepted. For Johnson, and many like him, the goal is not just to live longer but to do everything possible to optimize the body’s functioning.
Johnson has described his quest as “a philosophical and practical exercise on the future of human existence.” There is something undeniably ambitious in that statement, a belief that technology can somehow liberate us from the limits of biology. But there’s also a philosophical dilemma: at what cost do we pursue this liberation? The “Don’t Die” movement, as some have called it, places a near-religious focus on extending life’s quantity — and if you ask me, it happens at the expense of its quality.
There’s a kind of tunnel vision in the pursuit of metrics and biomarkers, a narrowing of life’s possibilities down to data points. I couldn’t imagine spending my days pricking my fingers or replacing my plasma in an attempt to wrestle a few more years from fate’s grip. As an article in CNA Lifestyle noted, “I am all for wanting to prolong one’s existence out of sheer zest for life. I just couldn’t get behind the drastic measures that stem from the hubris of believing one could — and should — fight death.”
The countdown timer, in contrast, doesn’t offer any illusions about defying mortality. It doesn’t promise more time; it simply gives me a gentle nudge to make the most of the time that remains. To actually put my phone the fuck down and pay attention to my partner. My kid. Hell, even my cats. To say fuck the calories and eat whatever I want to eat.
A Healthy Relationship with Mortality
Where the life extension movement grasps desperately to delay the inevitable, my timer is a reconciliation with it.
Confronting my mortality on a daily basis hasn’t led to despair; honestly, I don’t think I’m any more or less scared to kick the bucket.
But it has given me a profound sense of gratitude. By keeping the timer visible on my phone, I am constantly reminded that each day is a gift, not a given. There is a subtle shift that happens when you become aware of time’s limits; suddenly, trivial concerns (a pile of dishes in the sink) seem even more trivial, and what truly matters (the food we ate off those dishes and the extra pages of a book I got to read with my kid instead of rushing to the kitchen) becomes crystal clear.
Wallace D. Wattles once wrote,
“It is necessary to cultivate the habit of being grateful for every good thing that comes to you, and to give thanks continuously.”
This is the mindset I want to hold onto — treasuring time, not for a hard-won abundance, but for its bloody beautiful scarcity.
Studies on the effects of contemplating death have found that good people become more compassionate and tolerant when they recognize their own mortality. They’re likely to engage in behaviors that promote health and well-being and to focus on intrinsic values: love, personal growth, and the meaningful shit we remember on our ever-inevitable deathbeds. There’s something about staring at the finite nature of life that compels a shift from the superficial to the profound, from the quantitative to the qualitative.
The countdown gives me a kind of freedom. I don’t know about you, but I’m bloody tired of how business and productivity is equated with worth, and how life is measured in outputs and accomplishments.
Elizabeth Gilbert captures this sentiment beautifully:
“At some point, you gotta let go, and sit still, and allow contentment to come to you.”
The timer encourages a similar stillness — a pause to appreciate not just what is being done, but the fact that one has the fucking opportunity to do anything at all. Yes, even if that’s just cuddling with my animals.
The Philosophical Implications of Time Awareness
There’s a difference between understanding that life is finite in the abstract and confronting that reality in a concrete way. It’s easy to say we all die someday; it’s harder to watch a number that symbolizes the days remaining in your life tick downward. By translating the abstraction of “a lifetime” into a specific number of days, the timer personalizes time in a way that is intimate and inescapable.
This approach contrasts sharply with the technocratic vision of extending life indefinitely.
Even if technological advancements eventually allow us to live significantly longer, the question remains: what the fuck are we trying to preserve?
Is it merely a functioning body, or is it the essence of what makes life worth living — joy, connection, and a sense of purpose?
The mortality timer doesn’t deny the advancements in medicine and technology that have extended average lifespans. It acknowledges that no matter how far we push the boundaries, there will always be limits.
I’ve found a certain peace that I don’t think Johnson’s biohacking quest could never offer.
And all it took was a free app.
Instead of trying to beat time, I’m learning to live within it. Each day becomes less about adding years to my life, and more about adding life to my years.
I want to leave you with my favourite Mark Twain quote:
“I do not fear death. I had been dead for billions and billions of years before I was born, and had not suffered the slightest inconvenience from it.”
