Ashley Madison is right: life is short

But, aside from cheating, what do we do about it?

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TW: suicide

This week, I, like so many others, have been gulping down Netflix’s new documentary on the Ashley Madison scandal. The dating site, which was created for married individuals looking to cheat on their spouses, was infiltrated by hackers who leaked reams of life-altering data to the public, resulting in wrecked marriages, job losses and, in some cases, suicide.  

As someone who's obsessed with human nature and all its flaws, it’s a fascinating watch. Even without Netflix’s firm grip on the shoulders of your emotions, steering you in the ‘correct’ direction, it’s difficult not to feel sorry for almost everyone involved, even when what they’ve done is terrible. It bends the mind to watch people choose to endanger their happiness so easily and recklessly, only to shatter from it when they’re found out. 

All sorts of finger-pointing has gone on both in the documentary and the ensuing discourse online. For some people, the lion’s share of the responsibility is with the cheaters themselves. For others, it’s the site that’s most at fault. But, rather than fiddle around with percentages of blame, I want to focus on Ashley Madison’s now infamous company tagline: “Life is short. Have an affair.” 

In a to-camera interview, one woman tells us the harrowing story of finding her husband dead by suicide in their garage hours after his name was found in the site leak. I’m sure the irony of that tagline isn’t lost on her. And her story was only the sharpest tip of the iceberg. All around the world, lives were being upended, hearts were being broken and children and parents were becoming estranged. So, why did the menacing chide of “Life is short” encourage so many to do the worst thing possible: destroy the most sacred, meaningful parts of their lives to the point of no return?     

That, in my opinion, is perhaps the cruellest part that you can solely attribute to Ashley Madison—not the idea of the site itself, but the way it persuaded people who were vulnerable or easily susceptible to self-destruction. Life is indeed short. Life is precious beyond comprehension, but the answer is not to let any old voice - particularly one salivating at the mouth for your money - whisper in your ear. We need to learn to sit still in the panic of life’s brevity. Only then can we hear our own voice. 

I had a lovely conversation with a close friend this week. I was explaining that, since my father became ill, my interests, hobbies and values have changed—possibly as a direct influence from my dad, as a lot of what I’ve come to love about life I’ve learned from him. Things like gardening, birdwatching, nature and solitude make me happy now, all things which I would’ve considered very mundane ‘elderly’ interests ten years ago. But I’m still not entirely at ease with this change. My inner critic says that I have the rest of my life to listen to birds and visit National Trust gardens and that maybe I should spend more time attending edgy parties and drinking expensive cocktails. But my friend disagreed. She said that, in having an ill father, she thinks I’ve learned faster than most people my age just how short life is, and which parts of life to focus on if you want a fulfilling existence in the end.   

Last year, I got quite into reading lists of regrets from people who are dying. In these lists, there are some regrets that pop up over and over again. I wish I’d worked less hard. I wish I’d spent more time with my family. I wish I’d lived a life that was true to myself, not what others expected of me. I like these lists, because they remind me that I’m doing it right. Or at least I think I am. In a world that wants us to be permanently cool, glamorous, wealthy and good-looking, it can feel revolutionary to prioritise slowness, learning, human connection and the natural world. 

Of course, what we consider “a worthwhile life” will differ from person to person. But it’s crucial that we’re able to make our own choices and come to our own decisions on that. In the Ashley Madison documentary, it was obvious who was living authentically and who had become trapped by their lack of honesty, not just with those around them, but with themselves.

Sometimes, I try to picture myself at the end of my life and wonder whether I’ll have any clear regrets. I’m confident that I can at least say I lived in awe of nature every single day, my family knew me and were known in return, I loved my friends fiercely, and I spent the more recent part of my life doing - not what was expected of me - but what made me feel most alive. 

I hope it’s enough. I hope that in the moments when I panic about life being short, I’ll remember that the only antidote is to be authentic.

For more writing and poetry, follow me on Instagram @alannaduffield