The key to longevity: always having something to strive for.
From childhood, I have been acutely conscious of the impermanence of human life. Before I was out of my teens, I had already come close to dying more than once.
The first time, I was about 11. A sailboat I was in capsized, and I became entangled underwater in the rigging, beneath the sail. I thought I was going to die.
As I struggled, I saw the "bright light" people are said to see at the approach of death. At that same moment, the tension left my body, and I floated to the surface.
On two other occasions, I was involved in automobile accidents that could easily have killed me.
I have also lived under the shadow of an inherited illness. My maternal grandfather, Samuel Horlly, suffered from a rare blood-clotting disorder and died at 45.
I feared that I, too, might die young-and sure enough, when I was 48, the disease appeared in me. By then, however, an effective drug had been developed. I take one pill every day, grateful in the knowledge that without it, I would not be here.
I have been kept alive by modern medicine, timely intervention in moments of crisis, and plain luck.
Looking back over a life of nearly 80 years, I can see that I have always been fixated on winning. Put the ball in my hands, and I have to score. That is simply my nature.
Winning can be defined in many ways. Building an organization like Blackstone is a win. Contributing to a country, or improving the lives of other people, is a win. So is having the judgment not to do what everyone else is doing.
Through the accumulation of these experiences, I have learned a great deal. I have become much better at assessing people—their abilities, their character, and the way they approach problems. I have also come to understand more clearly how the world's complex systems actually work, and I use that understanding to anticipate what may happen next.
Let me attempt an assessment of the various roles I have played. As an investor, a philanthropist and a husband, I would give myself nine out of 10. Respectable, perhaps, though I still reproach myself for not having done more. I am not a full-time statesman, but for the assignments entrusted to me, I might allow myself a 10.
What saddens me is that I cannot live another 30 or 40 years. I enjoy my days, and they keep becoming more interesting. But like every other human being, I will eventually come to an end.
I need no epitaph. I have no expectation that I will be remembered. To expect otherwise seems unnatural. Even the finest companies rarely survive for 300 years. I think you have to live your life when you can do that intensely, and never give any thought to any other issues.
My name may survive on buildings I have endowed, but that was never the point. The educational program I established at Tsinghua University in China is called Schwarzman Scholars.
Perhaps some future student, curious about the name, will look me up—and then return immediately to their own life and never think of me again.
I vividly remember the final years of my maternal grandmother, Stella, who lived to 97. She lost her husband, Samuel, when she was still young and struggled as a hairdresser to raise my mother and her younger sister.
When I was in my 40's, Stella, by then very old, asked me to come and visit her.
"Grandma, why did you want to see me?" I asked.
"Because this will be the last time I see you," she said.
"Why is that?"
"Because I'm going to die."
Then, to my astonishment, she went on.
"When you have my funeral, I don't want anyone to be sad. I've had a great life, and there's nothing to be sad about."
She also shared what she regarded as the secret of her longevity.
"You know, the way you stay alive is to have the will to win."
Just as she had instructed, no one at the funeral seemed overcome by grief. It was a celebration of a woman who had lived to 97 and who, through a hard life, had never stopped looking forward.
When someone positive and full of character has lived a rich life well into their 90s, there is no reason for sorrow. This, I realized, was the way life should be.
There is an expression in English, "I haven't left much on the table." It means that you have given everything you had. I have had the opportunity to pursue nearly everything that interested me. If fate should carry me off, there will be no cause for sorrow.
I have been extraordinarily fortunate, and I have had a truly wonderful life. If I have managed to leave the people whose lives I have touched a little better off, that makes me glad.
From now until the very end, I intend to live at full strength.
Originally published in the Nikkei, October 2026