Paul Mescal’s line in the movie Aftersun, “I can’t see myself at 40, to be honest. Surprised I made it to 30,” struck a deep chord within me the first time I watched the film. It’s a sentiment I find myself relating to more than I expected. At 24, with six years left until I reach 30, I often wonder if I’ll even make it that far. The truth is, I can’t picture myself at 30, and that uncertainty is unsettling, yet familiar. It’s not just about the milestone; it’s about what lies ahead, in the years that stretch before us, and whether those years will be worth living at all.

A big part of me believes that we all spend too much time focused on the quantity of life—how many years we can rack up. But how much do those years really matter if they’re filled with pain, suffering, or unfulfilled longing? It’s the quality of life that should be the true measure. This belief becomes all the more profound when I think about my stance on euthanasia. I firmly support the right for individuals to end their lives on their own terms, especially in situations where enduring unbearable physical or emotional pain offers no hope of relief.

We often hear that living longer is inherently better, but I disagree. The length of life doesn’t guarantee anything—it’s what we do with the time we have that counts. It’s better to live a short, purposeful, and fulfilling life than to stretch out an existence filled with misery and regret. Sometimes, the best way to honor life is by knowing when to let go. People should be empowered to choose how their story ends, not dragged through endless suffering because society insists they must fight until the very end.

We’re constantly told to keep going, but what if the fight is no longer worth it? Shouldn’t we consider the possibility that quality of life, with all its joys and meaningful moments, trumps the idea of holding on for the sake of time itself? After all, what’s the point of more years if they’re not filled with purpose, peace, and a sense of fulfillment? In the end, it’s not about how long we live, but how we live in the time we’re given.

This sentiment is also echoed in the movie We Live in Time, where Florence Pugh’s character makes the conscious decision to live out the time she has left to its fullest, rather than cling to an existence that no longer feels worth it. Her choice to prioritise quality over quantity of life is a powerful and poignant reflection of the belief that when faced with the inevitable, it’s better to live meaningfully than to stretch out something that brings no joy.

Her love interest’s initial reluctance to accept this decision adds a layer of complexity to the story. At first, he struggles to understand why she would choose to end her journey when there could still be time left. It’s a natural reaction—a fear of loss, an instinct to hold on to someone we love, even when we know it’s futile. But as the story progresses, he comes to terms with her choice, recognising that supporting her means respecting her autonomy and understanding that her life, however long or short, should be on her terms. This dynamic mirrors the internal conflict many of us face when grappling with our own fears of time running out.