I do find that very comforting.

It reminds me of a bit in the outer chapters of the zhuangzi that’s talking about fearing death. It points out how bad a lump of iron would be if it demanded to only ever be a knife and never recast into anything else.

How am I to know that the current configuration of the molecules I’m made of is the best use of them? There will come a time where everything that’s me is recast and put to better use.