Well, I’m definitely going to die; how old I’ll be when it finally happens is a bit of a question.
But the fact remains–we all get old (to some degree), and we all die. You may die clean, or you may die ugly. You might die quietly, or you might die screaming. You might die bravely, fighting “the good fight” (whatever the Hell that might be, these days), or you might die a coward, your pants full of shit & piss, begging on your knees (like Che Guevara) for your life. You might die alone and unknown, or you might die famous and surrounded by others.
Whatever the modifiers, the constant remains inescapably real: You are going to die.
You will not escape. You will not upload your mind to some computer network; there will not be an immanentizing of the eschaton through the creation of a hive mind; you will not race forward to the Zero point and dance on the edge of a Singularity.
There is no escape. One day, you will die. Until you accept that, you are useless.