You'll Soon Forget Your Troubles

For time is like a river.

Hello, dear reader. First, thank-you, then I’ll get out of my own way- there are 135,567 of you now, all here for the same reason- you’d like to get better at the art of living well. That’s the whole point of life.

So let me tell you what I’ve been sitting on.

You probably already own the most famous book in Stoicism. Marcus Aurelius wrote the Meditations for an audience of one- himself. Reminders to steady his mind- his emotions, written at the edge of an empire, meant for his eyes alone. The most quoted Stoic text in history is, technically, a private diary.

I’ve been keeping a diary like that.

For the last year I’ve kept a running set of maxims- short, blunt lines I wrote to keep myself level. I practice medicine, which means my day is wall-to-wall human beings at their most frightened, their most stubborn, their most unreasonable, and the work is- least to say- bit chaotic. These lines are the railing I held onto. I’d have frankly gone under without them.

The plan was to keep them on the low, the way Marcus kept his. But I’ve come to change my mind. They’ve carried too much weight to sit in a drawer working for nobody but me.

So I’m releasing them to a few of you, as The Stoic Manual: Meditations on the Art of Living — 150 maxims, written for anyone, beginner or expert, to be used at anytime life calls for it.

Here’s the proposed cover page,

Screenshot of proposed cover page.

This special book will go to Annual & Lifetime members only. And you can secure a copy when I launch, plus all other bonuses, by upgrading your subscription below,

^{I’ll send it to you on launch if you’re already an Annual/Lifetime subscriber.}

That said, here’s today’s mini-essay,

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You’ll Soon Forget Your Troubles

‘Dragon’. Witold Pruszkowski. 1896.

“Time is like a river made up of the events which happen, and a violent stream; for as soon as a thing has been seen, it is carried away, and another comes in its place, and this will be carried away too.”

―Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

A few years ago I made a mistake that felt, at the time, like a catastrophe. I had failed my medical school exam by 2 points. For context- up to that time, I had been the best at everything I touched since I was young. So you can imagine the anguish I was going through. When this happened, I was convinced it was going to end me- being a perfectionist and all. I told my story of shame to anyone who would listen- especially my sister. I replayed it many times I lost count. I rehearsed what I should have done and said ad nauseam.

Then one afternoon, maybe six weeks later after brooding, I was laughing at something unrelated and I realized- in that moment- that I hadn’t thought about the whole thing in a while. I hadn’t resolved the issue with some grand epiphany. I was still facing the consequences. But time had passed and emancipated me.

Now I want to ask you- do you even remember what your worst crisis was, say, three years ago?

The Stoics had a concept for this, though they described it in more cosmic language. Chrysippus, one of the founders of Stoic philosophy and arguably its most rigorous thinker, described the universe as something that periodically burns itself clean and renews. Everything- empires, arguments, heartbreaks- returns to fire, then begins again. He was telling us something about proportion. In the grand sweep of things, the thing eating at you today is a small flame in an enormous universe that has seen everything burn and be reborn before.

That’s the macro view. I believe the micro one is more useful for you today.

Your mind generates suffering by adding a layer of interpretation on top of what actually happened. Epictetus, who knew suffering in the most literal sense- he was enslaved, and his master once broke his leg to prove a point- said the pain that lasts is never the event itself. It’s the story you keep telling about the event. The body heals by forgetting. A cut doesn’t stay a cut. It closes up, scars, and eventually you even lose the scar. The mind has the exact same mechanism, except we keep picking at the wound and wondering why it won’t close.

Whatever you’re going through right now, I want you to know that you won’t remember it clearly in a month. You’ll probably even be laughing at the whole thing. It could be an exam you failed terribly, it could be losing your job, or even something unfair that someone did. Marcus Aurelius wrote,

“Everything is only for a day, both that which remembers and that which is remembered.”

“Near is your forgetfulness of all things; and near the forgetfulness of you by all.”

Look, I don’t want you to think you’re heartless or shallow. Feel whatever you have to feel right now- there’s dignity in that. But know that forgetting is just how humans are built, and the Stoics have known and used this fact for quite some time.

In his letters to Lucillus, Seneca wrote something so obvious but still resounds in me. There was a time he was sick- feverish, barely able to sit up. He made an astute observation when he got better- “I can remember being ill. I recall my thirst, my heaviness- but I no longer feel them.” He was making a philosophical argument. Pain, at its worst, is still subject to the laws of time. The memory of it is always there. But you can recall suffering without aching from it again.

That’s the insight most people miss. We treat our current problems as permanent damage. The mind, in the thick of things, insists that this time is different. This crisis will end you, this embarrassment will follow you, this failure will define you. But step back far enough and you see the pattern- every time you think a problem has legs, eventually becomes another thing you forgot about. Or if you’re like me, used to your advantage.

That’s where it gets interesting. The Stoics weren’t just telling you to wait it out passively. Musonius Rufus, Epictetus’s teacher, believed that hardship trained the soul the same way exercise trained the body. The point wasn’t to avoid the trouble or numb yourself to it, but to move through it so wholly that you got on the other side stronger and, crucially, lighter.

The day you laugh at the thing that once stressed you will be proof that you’ve digested it. The Stoics would say you finally achieved apatheia, a word we’ve distorted into apathy, but which really means freedom from being controlled by a passion. They also called the quality you’re trying to build prosoche- attention to the self, a consistently alert awareness. It had nothing to do with suppressing your feelings. Just watch yourself carefully enough to catch the moment your mind starts treating a temporary condition as something permanent. Just don’t waste your pain.

So, when something goes wrong, and your mind starts imagining you’re unfit to handle it, ask yourself one question- ”How will this story pan out in six months?” One day you’ll shake your head and smile.

Then act accordingly. Do what the moment asks of you with your full attention and effort, continue loving, being disciplined and acting with virtue. Take the phone call, send the email, make the apology, do the work even if you don’t like it- but handle it as someone who already knows they’ll survive it. Because you will. The evidence is your entire life so far.

You’ve been through things that once felt unsurvivable and today you can barely recall the details from memory.

And that right there. That’s your greatest proof of strength.

So whatever it is- write it down, date it, and revisit it in thirty days. Chances are you’ll wonder what all the fuss was about. I promise you, you’ll laugh.

If this resonated with you, forward it to someone who needs to hear it. And if you’re in the thick of a hard season right now, sit with Marcus’s river for a moment. Let it marinate. It’s carrying all of us.