Several years ago Dusty and I visited the catacombs in Paris.

The Catacombs of Paris are a maze of tunnels that hold the skeletal remains of an estimated 6 million Parisians. The catacombs were built for a functional purpose: millions of people have lived (and died) in Paris for nearly two thousand years. By the 18th century, some of the city cemeteries had become overfilled, and the human remains accumulating there needed to be consolidated, both as a public health measure and to better utilize Paris’ real estate for its ever-increasing number of living inhabitants. It took two years of work to dig up Paris’ graves and transport the long-dead bones to the catacombs.

Today the catacombs are a somewhat off-beat tourist attraction. I would contend that a visit here is one of the most profound things anyone can do in Paris.

Upon stepping down the many stairs into the catacombs, one of the first things you’ll notice is the staggering number of bones.

Femurs and longbones are stacked like cordwood, studded with skulls, lining the walls of the underground tunnel system that seems to stretch for miles. The bones of six million people amount to a staggering spectacle.

The second thing you’ll notice is the objective beauty of the place. The bones are… arranged. In columns, pillars, mosaic-like designs on the walls. No mortar to be found between the bones. There’s a chill in the air but no stench and no dampness.

The catacombs are a contemplative place.

It takes about an hour to walk the winding path through the catacombs, and the whole time you’re accompanied by the presence of the many many souls who lived and died and among whose earthly remains you are walking. People who loved. People who worked. People guilty of all the goodness and treachery of the human condition. People who dreamed and laughed and made mistakes and perhaps hurt other people and perhaps helped other people.

Eventually, after staring into enough eyeless skulls, you might make the connection that these skulls are not terribly different from the one you are carrying atop your own neck and inside which you carry every memory, lesson, worry, and dream that makes up your own life.

A few steps further and it might click for you that one day your femurs and longbones and yes, even your skull, will eventually be laid to rest somewhere.

You might ask yourself a worthy question: what would I still like to do between this moment right now and my inevitable death?

If you ask yourself this question, you are engaging in an ancient spiritualist practice known as memento mori. Remembering your mortality.

The bitter pill of the human condition is to live in awareness of mortality. One way of dealing with this is by pursuing meaning.

The writings of cultural anthropologist Ernest Becker inspired the concept of Terror Management Theory which suggest that people deal with the terrible spectre of death by upholding worldviews that are larger and longer-lasting than the human lifespan. In the aftermath of Dusty’s dad’s death (2021), we started asking some hard questions about what kind of impact we want our lives to have.

These reflections were a catalyst toward living more intentionally. It’s been a powerful journey and one we want to share and invite others into. So we launched the Skull and Bones Society.

The Skull and Bones Society supports the pursuit of living well, because time is short and life is precious. The name reflects the paradox that though every one of us will face an ultimate and inescapable end, if we live well we also have a little taste of immortality: hope of an afterlife, a legacy to leave behind, and transformation into the future. Through Skull and Bones, we offer coaching, education, and gatherings rooted in our belief that living intentionally—with the end in mind—is the best way to get the most out of life.