No matter how rich or poor any of us are, we’re all unified by one simple fact: At the end of our life, we’ll be transformed into something else. My friends allege they were previously a red-cheeked gibbon, or an audio wave, or an aphid on a leaf deep in the Sumatran jungle. They were lucky to become human again subsequently, since, after all, there are nearly infinite entities in the universe. But whatever happens, you’re forced to let go of all expectations, since no one gets to choose what they become. In that profound sense, we’re all the same.