The time I was least afraid of dying: I was 28-29. I was very recently divorced. I grew up in a religion that instilled a deep belief that family was everything, and failure in that domain was failure as a human, more or less. I'd resigned myself to the divorce after 6 years of marriage. I saw things in my future that were predictable and insubstantial. I realized during that time--a year or two--that I didn't really mind the thought that I might die.
I was not suicidal. I didn't want to die; in fact, I very much wanted to stay alive. At the same time, the thought that I might die wasn't weird or scary or unnerving. To be fair, I also still firmly believed in a relatively pleasant afterlife at that time.
I didn't take big risks. Didn't drive unsafely (any more than usual), didn't do daredevil stuff. I just didn't mind the thought of dying. I think about that, sometimes. If I ever get back to that zen-about-dying state again, it won't be for the same reasons, which had a big dose of religion in them.
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