If I Could, Would I?
A friend told me about the latest longevity breakthroughs coming out of China. This is actual science, not influencer nonsense or Silicon Valley biohacker cosplay. In Nanjing, researchers are using young blood to extend the lifespan of mice, not just stretching out their lives but actively repairing the damage inside them. In Hangzhou, monkeys on an old diabetes drug called metformin are reversing biological age, showing healthier cells, sharper minds, and less physical decay. In Shenzhen, they have figured out how to flip Yamanaka factors, resetting old cells to a younger state without triggering cancer, something nobody thought was possible. They are even using hydrogen-infused saline to bring dead tissue back to life—muscle, nerve, and anything else people are too polite to mention.
This is not science fiction. Human trials are already underway. The only thing left is to figure out who gets access first.
After running through all of it, my friend asked me if I could, would I?
And I had no idea. Part of me wants to say yes. I would take the body I had at twenty-four. The energy. The raw, delusional belief that I could do anything and outrun everything. I was not wise. But I was creative. I was reckless. I was just smart enough to build something and just stupid enough to burn it down for fun. I left chaos in my wake and told myself it was progress.
And the truth is, I would probably do the same shit again. I would just do it faster. I would do it louder. I would do it with even more conviction.
That is how people work. More life does not mean better choices. It just means more time to double down on the same habits, the same blind spots, the same hungers.
And here’s the fucked up part. The people who will get there first will not be the wise or the curious. The first through the door will be the Trumps of the world. The small, greedy, hollow men who already poison everything they touch. They will not use longer life to change. They will use it to take more. To hoard more. To squeeze the last drops out of whatever is left. They will live longer just to make sure no one else ever gets to breathe.
That is the future we are building, Happy Friday!
If I could do it again, maybe the only real move would be to stop sooner. To stop chasing what never mattered. To stop pretending that motion means meaning. To stop before I became one more aging, desperate fool clawing for relevance while the world rolls its eyes and walks away.
That is the closest thing to wisdom I have. And knowing me, I would probably still screw it up but enjoy screwing it up of course. Because sometimes it feels good to be bad.
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