我定于2060年8月10日去世，享年74岁。
称我的iPhone屏幕死亡钟(Death Clock)，一个基于你的医学习惯和生活方式预测预期寿命的AI动力长寿应用，产生了一个微笑的严酷收割者的形象来庆祝我的到期日期。 9月1日早晨，他特别激动地看到这个揭发，带着和平的标语，在那个巨大的号码下，他靠在甜甜圈形状的充气池里：74.
我从未怨恨年纪越大，在最近四年里，我祖母和姨妈在18个月内去世，自一月年满40岁以来，我每天都会想起衰老，精神上，我感到年轻；身体上，我的身体会尖叫。 衰老是自然的，但我有一个蠕动的怀疑我可以为自己争取更多的时间。
我们集体对延长生命的痴迷，催生了一个数以千亿计的长寿产业，得到了布莱恩·约翰逊这样的先知的支持。 气候变化和AI doomerism等威胁似乎只是加剧了存在恐惧，即使LLMs承诺一个个性化的医学新时代来解决任何健康问题。 追踪足够多的数据，思考开始，和算法可以帮助你黑进自己的死亡。
2024年的发布应用程序，旨在追踪用户的健康习惯，2月，宣布公司有了一个新的功能，让你订购生物标记板。 对于69美元订阅，你可以得到一个基本的血面板，来测量胆固醇，血糖，炎症，维生素D，血液和器官健康等东西。 另外还有9项检测——评估从激素和微量营养素到甲状腺的所有情况——总共需要780美元。 我选择了常规的血面板，并增加了“压力”测试(29美元)。 也许一些新的洞察力可以帮助我得到一个处理它。
为了超越另一个病态倒计时游戏，死亡钟称，根据你的结果，它的算法建立了一个详细的预防计划，旨在帮助延长你离开的时间。
坦率地说，我怀疑任何有意义的东西都会从这里产生。 我也承认，我有点害怕会学到一些我不想学的东西
在填写了一份初步的卫生问卷之后，一份通知发出，预示着我的死亡。 称：心血管疾病、睡眠障碍或癌症(它没有指定哪一种类型 )。 这意味着，根据应用程序，我已经“完成了”我在这个凡人飞机上的一半以上。 几天后，当我注意到我的家人有温和的糖尿病史时，这个应用将我的死亡年龄从74岁提高到73岁。
就这样，我失去了一年。
我知道自己不会活到100岁，但用超人性化计划能延长我的寿命10年甚至15年吗？“你有两条路”, “我们在这里帮助你实现更长的目标。” 我和Quest诊断公司订了约公司合作的两个实验室之一愿意把我的血献给死亡钟
我们并不缺乏旨在改变我们与身体关系的产品。 我的收件箱里充斥着来自长寿狂热者的电子邮件，这几乎太过分了
死亡钟首席执行官布伦特·弗兰森告诉我，称主张强生的口号是“不要死”，那地方很危险，现实是我们都会死。 这是什么时候的问题。
超过Zoom，我能想到的就是弗兰森想卖给我什么。
预计到2030年，长寿市场将达到8万亿美元，这意味着保健的未来可能较少受到传统治疗的影响，更多的是个人化AI保健服务的影响。 多克特罗尼奇(Doctronic)是一个符合HIPAA的平台，工作如个人AI医生，人们可以重新填药而无需看人医，而超级力量和生命力(类似于死亡钟)等应用则提供基于会员的健康见解和临床医生审查的建议。 Twin Health意图制造人工智能复制品，所有这一切都是为了帮助我们活得久一点
称死亡率意识平台，如死亡钟“宣传个人寿命是一个线性过程的幻想”, 2024年的老化细胞研究同样表明，老化时钟不应作为衡量某人总体生物年龄的尺度。 “当然，个人一级引发死亡的触发因素本来就是随机的，永远无法真正预测。”
我问弗朗森我们是否真的变得更健康，称。 “对自我优化的迷恋非常不健康
死亡钟不是也有罪吗？
当我给样品一周后血面板又回来时大部分结果都是我的医生今年早些时候警告我的我拥有高胆固醇和血糖水平的边界线，令人震惊的是，我拥有“最佳肝脏健康”和正常皮质醇水平。 所谓健康影响者的影片让我相信，近来一连串无眠的夜晚都是高皮质醇造成的
根据我的结果，应用程序不断喂我更多的任务。 增加我的维生素D3！准备对骨密度进行DEXA扫描！跟专家讨论前列腺抗原检查尽管Franson声称他希望死亡钟最终成为初级保健医生的替补
最后，我开始意识到，跟踪健康数据只能做这么多。 有一种信念是，称 Gretchen Terry-Leonard，作者你的第二首相：衰老是不是衰老，或者我们在衰老的时候衰老？能够测量某事意味着它也可以管理。 死亡不是那样的，她称说：“ 所以测量开始服务于不同的需要：不必感到害怕。 ”
Terry-Leonard也是研究AI对大脑健康的影响的独立研究机构人类领导力中心的联合创始人。 她怀疑消费型长寿应用本身会导致正面的行为转变。 「事实不会改变主意，人们明白某些活动是不健康的，但不管怎样，它们都是这样做的。
保持死亡的视线是我们最古老的做法之一，而且似乎重要的是，一个人是否感到自己有个人机构来对其生活作出必要的调整。 研究死亡思想如何影响健康选择的研究人员发现，当人们也具有采取行动的信心和资源时，人们就会转向更健康的行为，而这并非每个人都有。 “没有这些，”特里-莱昂纳德告诉我，“这种焦虑往往会保护我们对自己的感觉，而不是我们的健康。”
在研究她的著作时，特里-莱昂纳德发现，对老龄化持更积极态度的老年人的平均寿命比那些有负面前景的老年人长7年半。 使用死亡倒计时的应用程序“可以悄悄地告诉我们，衰老是损失，”阻碍寿命而不是促进寿命。
在使用死亡钟的那个月，我成为我身体功能的细心管理者，记录“日常习惯”，在一天之内，我给生命增加了5.8年，专门指定我完成了至少30分钟的体力训练，投了弃权票，刷牙和擦牙，睡了好觉，在桑拿里呆了一段时间，喝了8多杯水。 但即使我努力改善我的死亡日期，钟总是在那里，倒计时。 是信天翁朝一个单一的统一方向移动：滴答，滴答，滴答。 时间成了我被迫优化的负担。
人们正忙于他们想逃跑的事情，这是有道理的。 控制的必要性是令人上瘾的。 但死亡钟表并没有缓解我的焦虑和问题，反而只会扩大它们。
随着我想建立的生活形象在我的脑海中凝结，一种已经以无法预见的方式展开的生活，我意识到它与我如何实现事物无关，与我想与谁发生的事情有关。 生活并不在于增加时间，我将死亡钟的通知在手机上关闭，并发短信给一位朋友："让我们7点见面吧。"
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I am scheduled to die on August 10, 2060, at the age of 74.
So says my iPhone screen, where Death Clock, an AI-powered longevity app that predicts life expectancy based on your medical habits and lifestyle, has produced an image of a smiling grim reaper to celebrate my expiration date. There he was one September morning, looking especially thrilled about the reveal, gesturing with a peace sign as he reclined in a doughnut-shaped pool inflatable under that giant number: 74.
I have never resented getting older, but I suppose that’s younger than I’d like to be when my time is up. In the last four years—years that brought the passing of my grandmother and aunt within 18 months—I’ve become hyperaware of how finite my days are. Since turning 40 in January, I’ve also experienced daily reminders of aging: inexplicable pains that rotate between my back, neck, and hips. Spiritually, I feel young; physically, my body screams otherwise. Aging is natural, but I had a creeping suspicion I could buy myself more time.
Our collective obsession with life extension has given rise to a multitrillion-dollar longevity industry, bolstered by wannabe prophets like Bryan Johnson. Threats like climate change and AI doomerism only seem to have intensified existential fears, even as LLMs promise a new era of personalized medicine to address any health issue. Track enough pieces of data, the thinking goes, and algorithms can help you hack your own demise.
All of which led me to Death Clock, an app launched in 2024 aimed at tracking users’ health habits in an attempt to prolong their lives. In February, the company announced a new feature that lets you order biomarker panels. For a $69 subscription, you can get a basic blood panel that measures things like cholesterol, blood sugars, inflammation, vitamin D, and blood and organ health. There are also nine additional tests—assessing everything from hormones and micronutrients to your thyroid—that, altogether, cost $780. I opted for the routine blood panel and added the “stress” test ($29). Maybe some new insight could help me get a handle on it.
In an attempt to be more than another morbid countdown gimmick, Death Clock says it’s trained its AI on 1,200 longevity studies, actuarial data from life insurance companies, and life expectancy tables. Based on your results, its algorithms create a detailed prevention plan intended to help extend the time you have left.
Frankly, I was skeptical that anything meaningful would actually come from this. I was also, I can admit, a little fearful that I’d learn something I didn’t want to, a fact that might dissolve the little sanity I had left in a year that had already brought its share of unexpected problems.
After filling out an initial health questionnaire, a notification buzzed, forewarning my demise. There are three ways I will likely perish, it said: cardiovascular disease, a sleep disorder, or cancer (it doesn’t specify which type). This means, according to the app, I have already “completed” more than half of my existence on this mortal plane. A few days later, when I noted that my family has a mild history of diabetes, the app updated my age of death from 74 to 73.
And just like that, I lost a year.
I know I won’t live to be 100; people in my family generally croak in their early eighties. But was it possible to extend my lifespan by 10, even 15 years, with a hyperpersonalized plan? “You have two paths,” a message from the app exclaimed. “We are here to help you achieve the longer one.” I made an appointment with Quest Diagnostics, one of the two labs the company has partnered with, and willingly gave Death Clock my blood.
There’s no shortage of products that aim to reshape our relationship to our bodies. My inbox overflows with emails from longevity zealots pitching the latest anti-aging fads: salmon sperm scalp injections, a platelet-rich plasma treatment “Hailey Bieber swears by.” It’s almost too much, this urge to cheat the natural order of time.
“That’s a fool errand,” Death Clock CEO Brent Franson tells me one afternoon. He says advocates like Johnson—whose mantra “Don’t Die” reads more like a rejected Nike slogan than a wellness-oriented affirmation—“have to be really careful about inferring immortality when you have something to sell. That’s a dangerous place to be. The reality is we’re all going to die. It’s a question of when.”
Over Zoom, all I can think about is what Franson is trying to sell me.
The longevity market is projected to reach $8 trillion by 2030, meaning the future of health care may be shaped less by traditional treatment and more by personalized AI health services. With Doctronic, a HIPAA-compliant platform that works like a personal AI doctor, people can refill prescriptions without the need to see a human physician, while apps like Superpower and Lifeforce (similar to Death Clock) offer membership-based health insights and clinician-reviewed recommendations. Twin Health purports to create an AI replica, whatever that means, of a person’s metabolism. All of it is meant to help us live a little longer, though it’s unclear exactly how and at what cost.
Mike Ludkovski, a professor of statistics and applied probability at UC Santa Barbara whose research focuses on longevity analysis, says mortality awareness platforms like Death Clock “sell the illusion that individual lifespan is a linear process” that can be hacked. A 2024 Aging Cell study likewise suggested that an aging clock shouldn’t be treated as a measure of someone’s overall biological age. “Ultimately, individual-level triggers precipitating death are inherently random and will never be truly forecastable,” Ludkovski says.
I ask Franson if we’re actually getting healthier or just growing more anxious about being unhealthy. “I think both,” he says. “There’s a very unhealthy obsession with self-optimization—tracking everything, trying to control everything.”
Wasn’t Death Clock, in part, also guilty of that?
When the blood panels returned a week after I gave my sample, the results were mostly what my doctor had warned me about earlier this year. I’ve got borderline high cholesterol and blood sugar levels “creeping toward prediabetic range.” Shockingly, I have “optimal liver health” and normal cortisol levels. Videos from so-called wellness influencers had convinced me that a string of recent sleepless nights were the result of high cortisol, but, it turns out, the algorithm isn’t always right.
Based on my results, the app kept feeding me more tasks. Increase my vitamin D3! Schedule a DEXA scan for bone density! Discuss a prostate-specific antigen screening with a specialist! Despite Franson’s claim that he wants Death Clock to eventually be a replacement for primary care physicians, the app kept nudging me to discuss my results with a doctor.
Ultimately, I started to realize, tracking health data can only do so much. There is a belief, says Gretchen Terry-Leonard, author of Your Second Prime: Does Aging Suck, or Do We Suck at Aging?, that being able to measure something means it can also be managed. Death doesn’t work that way, she says, “so the measuring starts to serve a different need: the need to feel less afraid.”
Terry-Leonard is also the cofounder of the Center for Deeply Human Leadership, an independent research institute studying AI’s effect on brain health. She’s skeptical that consumer-facing longevity apps can lead to positive behavioral shifts on their own. “Facts don’t change minds,” she says. People understand that certain activities are unhealthy, but they do them anyway.
Keeping death in view is one of the oldest practices we have, and what seems to matter is whether a person feels they have the personal agency to make the necessary adjustments in their life. Researchers who study how thoughts of death shape health choices find that people move toward healthier behavior when they also have the confidence and resources to act, which not everyone does. “And without those,” Terry-Leonard tells me, “the anxiety tends to go into protecting how we feel about ourselves rather than into our health.”
While researching her book, Terry-Leonard found that older adults with more positive attitudes about aging lived an average of seven and a half years longer than those with negative outlooks. An app with a death countdown “can quietly teach us that aging is loss,” hindering longevity rather than promoting it.
In the month that I used Death Clock, this was the fact I couldn’t completely escape. I became a meticulous steward of my bodily functions, logging “daily habits” with the verve of an accountant manically calculating numbers just before tax deadline. In a single day I added 5.8 years to my life by earmarking that I’d completed at least 30 minutes of strength training, abstained from alcohol, brushed and flossed my teeth, gotten consistent sleep, spent time in the sauna, and drank more than eight glasses of water. But even as I labored to improve my death date, the clock was always there, counting down. It was an albatross that moved in a single, uniform direction: tick, tick, tick. Time became a burden I was being forced to optimize.
It makes sense that people are preoccupied with the very thing they are trying to escape. The need for control is addictive. But instead of assuaging my anxieties and questions about the great beyond, Death Clock only seemed to amplify them.
As the image of the life I want to build sharpens in my mind, a life that has already unfolded in deliciously unforeseen ways, I realize it has less to do with how I will make things happen and has everything to do with who I want them to happen with. Life isn’t about adding more time, but making it count when we can. I silenced Death Clock’s notifications on my phone and texted a friend: “Let’s meet at 7.”
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