Last weekend, I had a long conversation with two friends about the immortal snail meme.
The rules are simple:
Somewhere in the world, a random regular snail is chosen to become your nemesis. From that moment on, it is invincible. It always knows where you are. And if it ever touches you, you die instantly.
The good news: it is still a snail.
It does not fly.
It does not teleport.
It does not sprint through the night with tiny murderous legs.
It just crawls.
In the original thought experiment, you become rich and immortal in exchange for being hunted by this snail for the rest of your existence. But I find the scenario interesting even without those additions.
Just me and my snail assassin, starting right now.
Of course, we immediately started discussing strategies.
Could you live on a boat?
Could you move to a different continent every few years?
Could you trap the snail in a glass box?
Could you hire someone to always watch your surroundings?
Could you take walking ducks everywhere, hoping they would warn you if a suspicious snail was approaching?
Then we started calculating.
How fast can a snail actually travel?
A common garden snail moves at around 0.048 kilometers per hour. That is about 48 meters per hour, a little more than one kilometer per day, and around 420 kilometers per year — assuming, very generously, that it never rests and always moves in a perfect line toward you.
So if the snail started 10 kilometers away, it could theoretically reach you in about nine days.
If it started 1,000 kilometers away, it would need about two and a half years.
If it started on the other side of the planet, you would have some time.
And of course, this is still a snail. It would have to deal with roads, rivers, walls, stairs, birds, salt, confused toddlers, and the general absurdity of the physical world.
On any ordinary day, this snail is probably not my most realistic danger.
Traffic is more dangerous.
A random accident is more dangerous.
My own inattention is probably more dangerous.
But that is exactly what makes the snail so interesting. This little creature gives death a shape, makes it something to grapple with.
We know that life is temporary. We know that everything we love will disappear. But most of the time, this knowledge stays somewhere in the background. It becomes a philosophical notion. A calendar quote. A thought we agree with, without really feeling it.
The snail changed that for me.
A tiny assassin, somewhere in the world, slowly moving towards me. It turns mortality into a concrete image.
Yesterday I sat on the train, looking out the window, imagining the scenario was actually true.
Maybe the snail is far away. Maybe it is crossing a wet stone path in another country. Maybe it is trapped in a garden somewhere, heroically crawling over a lettuce leaf.
Or maybe someone accidentally brought it onto this train, and it could reach me at any moment.
Something strange happens when I sit with that fantasy. I get to decide whether I look around, make sure the deadly snail isn’t approaching, or let life take its course.
Really, the tension is between anxiety, avoidance, suppression, trying to stop the inevitable, and on the other side: acceptance.
The possibility of sudden death does not have to create fear. Instead, when allowed in gently, it can create presence, awe, and gratitude.
This is the old wisdom of memento mori: remember that you will die.
But the sentence can feel too heavy, too dramatic. The snail is different. It is ridiculous enough to enter my mind without much resistance, yet it still fills it with a sense of urgency.
This coffee could be my last coffee.
This train ride could be my last train ride.
This conversation could be the final little window through which I get to see another human being.
It makes me want to pay attention.
Because the problem is not only that life is short. The deeper problem is that we can move through it half-asleep.
We can spend entire days inside our plans, fears, comparisons, and inner commentaries, while the actual texture of life passes quietly in the background.
The invertebrate assassin interrupts that. Because how would I live, if I pretend that it is really coming?
Not by turning every moment into a productivity challenge.
But with a little more willingness to actually be where I am.
Somewhere, somehow, that snail is moving.
Slowly.
Ridiculously.
Faithfully.
Until it arrives, there is still this moment to pay attention to.
Take a moment and pretend the snail is real 🐌
Imagine how it might already be close to you. Feel the impulses to control the situation, fantasies of how you could make sure the snail never reaches you.
Instead, meet the snail with acceptance – and watch how that changes the texture of your experience.
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✒️ Quote of the Week: “Survival is the ability to swim in strange water.” -Frank Herbert
🍿 Video of the week: The Beauty of Ecosystemic Horror
🎧 Song of the Week: Judas Priest – Turbo Lover
I want to expand this newsletter’s format by responding to reader comments and questions. Of course, I’ll need some comments and questions first 😂 So I’d love to hear from you!
Did something in my writing catch your attention? Was there an idea you found particularly intriguing? Or is there a question that’s been on your mind related to these topics?
Just comment here or write to me at mail@urth.blog 👈
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