Stoic Practice: Rehearsing Death and Accepting Fate

This entry is part 50 of 50 in the series Journey Through Stoicism
This entry is part 2 of 2 in the series Stoicism Practices

I grew up with death in the next room. My father managed a funeral home, and for a time our family lived in a small apartment above it. Most kids grew up with kitchen noise and television. I grew up with the quiet hum of grief drifting through the walls. I did not think much about it at the time, but it shaped how I see life. It also shaped how I understand endings. Later, I buried friends during the AIDS crisis. I cared for one of them in my home until he died. Those years taught me that death does not wait for a convenient moment. It just arrives.

The Stoics understood this impulse to drift into denial. They practiced rehearsing death so they could return to what mattered. The practice does not pull you toward fear. It pulls you toward clarity. In my own life, the deaths of family and friends have reminded me of this same truth. We do not control the length of our days. We control how we use the ones we have. If you want to read more about how the practice shaped my own path through grief, transition, and aging, you can find the full essay here.

Read more

Thinking Our Way to Character

This entry is part 49 of 50 in the series Journey Through Stoicism

Our thoughts are not just passing moods or fleeting opinions. They are the architects of our character. They are the hidden builders of who we become. James Allen said it more than a century ago: “A man is literally what he thinks.” The Stoics would have nodded in agreement. The Apostle Paul might have, too. Each taught that transformation begins not with circumstance, but with the mind’s quiet work of shaping how we see, judge, and act.
In Thinking Our Way to Character, I explore how Allen’s moral vision aligns with Stoic and Christian wisdom, and how both still hold up under the weight of modern life. Through philosophy, faith, and a bit of neuroscience, the essay looks at how disciplined thought turns daily struggle into purpose. If you’ve ever wondered whether we can truly think our way toward peace, purpose, and resilience, this one’s worth the read.

Read more

Stoic Practices: Voluntary Discomfort

This entry is part 47 of 50 in the series Journey Through Stoicism

When I first began walking, one mile was a struggle. Every step was an argument between my will and my comfort. Over time, those miles became my teacher. What the Stoics called voluntary discomfort is not self-denial but a rehearsal for life’s inevitable hardships. When we choose minor difficulties—a plain meal, a long walk, a day without convenience—we remind ourselves that peace does not depend on comfort. Each act of endurance builds calm, gratitude, and freedom.

Read more

Stoic Practices: Friendship and Mentorship

This entry is part 46 of 50 in the series Journey Through Stoicism

Some people quietly shape the way we see the world. Some do it by teaching. Others, simply by being there year after year, when life tests our convictions. The Stoics believed that friendship was a form of moral training and that mentorship was the art of walking beside someone as they learn to live well.

In this essay, I reflect on five people who changed the course of my life. They were friends and mentors whose presence became a daily lesson in philosophy. Their stories align with the wisdom of Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius, as well as with the insights of modern science, proving what the ancients already knew: that deep connection is essential to a good life.

The Stoics called these relationships “friends of virtue.” Today, we call them the people who help us become who we’re meant to be.

Read more

Practicing Memento Mori: Learning to Live by Remembering Death

This entry is part 45 of 50 in the series Journey Through Stoicism

We spend much of our lives pretending we have endless time. The Stoics knew better. Memento Mori—remember that you will die—was not a grim command but a call to live awake. Modern science now confirms what they intuited: when people recognize their days are finite, they become calmer, kinder, and more grateful.

In this new essay, I explore how ancient philosophy and modern psychology meet on common ground. From Seneca to Stanford researcher Laura Carstensen, the message is the same: awareness of mortality can make life richer, not smaller. Read Memento Mori: Learning to Live by Remembering Death.

Read more

Stoic Practices: Contemplation of Nature

This entry is part 44 of 50 in the series Journey Through Stoicism

Stoicism teaches that nature is both teacher and law. In a time of rising seas and stronger storms, the lesson feels urgent: to live according to nature now means to remember that we are not outside it.

Read more

Rehearsing Virtue in Small Daily Acts

This entry is part 43 of 50 in the series Journey Through Stoicism

At The Portico café in downtown Tampa, I paused my work to sit with a man who had just been released from prison. He was unsure what to do next. I offered coffee, listened, and waited until the manager returned to connect him with help. It wasn’t a big deal, but later, I realized how much peace there can be in simply giving someone attention for a few minutes.

In the past, I invited my widowed neighbor to join my husband and me for our usual Taco Tuesday after she told me her daughter had been declared cancer-free. She later said how much the evening meant to her. Those simple moments, one with a stranger, one with a friend, reminded me that compassion is a practice. The Stoics taught that virtue is built not in theory but in repetition, through the small choices that make us steady and kind.

Read more

Stoic Practices: Morning Reflection

This entry is part 42 of 50 in the series Journey Through Stoicism

The mornings came first as exercise. Two years ago, I started walking for my health, beginning with just a few blocks at a time. I carried extra weight then, 187 pounds of it, to be exact. The plan was simple: move more, eat better, and feel less tired. What I didn’t expect was that those early walks would become something much deeper. They began with music, everything from Sousa marches to soft piano covers. Later, I switched to audiobooks to make the walks more productive. But as my life began to shift in other ways, I started walking in silence. In that quiet, something changed. My thoughts began to stretch out and organize themselves.

It became a kind of morning meditation. And like most good accidents, it only later revealed its purpose. I realized that what I was doing was practicing a Stoic exercise—the morning reflection. The Stoics began each day by preparing the mind for the world ahead, anticipating difficulties, and setting a moral compass. Two thousand years later, science affirms what they knew: that a few deliberate minutes at dawn can redirect an entire day.

Read more

Stoic Practices: Attention to the Present Moment

This entry is part 41 of 50 in the series Journey Through Stoicism

Attention does not have to be grand or mystical. It can be a high-school band, thirty students and a tuba, finding themselves perfectly in tune for a few minutes. It can be a quiet morning at The Portico, folding a tablet closed to listen to a man just released from prison. The Stoics called this prosoche—the discipline of attention—and believed it was the core of a good life. When we show up fully in the small moments, we discover what Marcus Aurelius meant when he said the present is the only thing that truly belongs to us.

Modern life makes this harder. Our phones, notifications, and meetings tempt us to drift through our days in fragments. Yet each act of genuine presence pushes back against that fragmentation. In a distracted world, paying attention is an act of resistance and of love. It is how we reclaim the texture of our days and rediscover the quiet pulse of a life well lived.

Read more

Living the Last Best Moment – A Stoic Practice

This entry is part 38 of 50 in the series Journey Through Stoicism

Greta Gerwig once said, “You don’t know when the last time of something happening is. You don’t know what the last great day you’ll spend with your best friend is. You’ll just know when you’ve never had that day again.” That line has echoed in me ever since I first heard it. It captures both the sweetness and fragility of the present moment.
The Stoics knew this well. Marcus Aurelius warned against drifting into tomorrow, reminding himself that life is lived only in the day at hand. Seneca told us that we waste time as if it were endless. For them, attention to the present was not a poetic thought. It was survival. It was also the way to live a life worth remembering.
I think of an afternoon long ago with my friend Jim, shooting pool at his parents’ house. Or a fall day on a golf course with my friend Mike, pausing to look over Moss Lake together. Neither seemed extraordinary at the time. Yet they have stayed with me as “last great days.” The lesson is clear: if I want to live fully, I must live here, in this moment, as if it could be the last best one.

Read more

Stoic Practices: Role Models

This entry is part 40 of 50 in the series Journey Through Stoicism

The Stoics believed that we learn virtue through example. Marcus Aurelius wrote to himself as if he were a friend, modeling how to live by holding himself accountable to an imagined mentor. Seneca pointed to Cato as a guide. Epictetus told his students to picture a sage. This practice of role models is simple but powerful: we ask, “What would this person do?” and in answering, we shape our own choices.

For me, role models have been both personal and public. My mother, a nurse for thirty-six years in our local schools, cared for generations of children and called them “my kids.” She held our family together after Dad’s untimely death and lived a life of quiet service that rippled through our community. My band director, Donald Deal, taught discipline and teamwork that lasted far beyond the music hall. Rev. Dr. R. Earle Rabb showed courage in welcoming all God’s children into his church. And figures like John Lewis, Harvey Milk, and Mahatma Gandhi remind me that justice, hope, and service are lived realities, not abstractions. To practice role models is to remember that we are guided by others—and that we, too, may be the model someone else is following.

Read more