The Semiquincentennial Baton
My great grandmother was born in 1918; I was born in the 1990s; let's say I live until 2080. But forget about my death, when will my great grandchildren die? If my daughter was born in the 2020s, her grandkids might be born in the 2070s, meaning I could know my great grandkids in the first 10 years of their life. Assuming there is no raical life-extending technology (big assumption), they could live until 2172. That's a 254-year span!
Why am I calculating this? Well, I suppose I was reflecting on how my great grandmother would say the same aphorism to me every time I left her house: "be your own person, choose your friends wisely." It etched into my head, and I don't think I processed it at the time, and now wonder if that fundamentally wired me—or at least, it laid some seed that wouldn't germinate until after she passed (in fact, I'd say I become "independent" in the exact year she died.)
So there's a world where I can say that same saying to my kids, grandkids, and great grandkids. And so that changes the scope of my life; I am not merely limited to be a 100-year old mayflay ("Funny—to be a Century"), but I sit at the center of a 250-year transmission of knowledge, the crux of my own semiquincentennial.