Dwain Northey (Gen X)

This week’s celebrity deaths have hit differently. For Generation X, it’s more than just a passing headline or another notification ping on the phone — it’s a quiet, unsettling reminder of our own mortality and the relentless march of time. We’ve always prided ourselves on being the in-between generation — not quite analog, not quite digital, sandwiched between the idealism of Boomers and the hustle of Millennials. But now, with icons from our youth and peers our own age passing away, we’re being forced to face the very truths we’ve spent decades side-stepping.

When someone we grew up watching, listening to, or admiring dies, it pulls at something deeper. These weren’t just celebrities; they were time markers. They gave shape to our identity when the world felt chaotic or uncertain. They were the background music at parties, the posters on our bedroom walls, the characters we quoted endlessly in college dorms. Losing them is like losing pieces of ourselves — fragments of innocence, joy, rebellion, and hope.

But the part that stings even more is when it’s someone our age. Not a legend from the generation before, but a contemporary — someone who came of age during the same cultural moments we did, who maybe even seemed invincible in their fame and vitality. It jolts us. We can no longer pretend that we’re immune or that we’re still “young enough” for everything to work out. We’re not the young ones anymore. We’re the ones people are starting to say “gone too soon” about.

There’s a sobering recognition that our bodies, our time, our chances — they’re all finite. This isn’t to say life loses its beauty, but its fragility becomes more apparent. These deaths are a quiet whisper in our ears: to check in on our health, to reach out to old friends, to spend more time being present rather than numbing out.

Gen X has often been called cynical or detached, but maybe it’s more accurate to say we’re protectively skeptical. Life hasn’t been easy, and trust hasn’t always been earned. But moments like this break through that hard shell. They make us pause, grieve, reflect, and—if we let them—soften. And in that softening, perhaps we find a new way to live the second half of our lives: awake, grateful, and fully aware.