How to Begin the Stoic Practices

This entry is part 1 of 15 in the series Stoicism Practices
This entry is part 52 of 53 in the series Journey Through Stoicism

Most people imagine Stoic practice as a long list of habits they should somehow manage to fit into an already crowded day. The truth is simpler. Most practices don’t begin with a grand plan. They begin the way mine did. A quiet morning walk becomes a morning reflection. A hard season pulls you into sympatheia. Three lines in a notebook settle into evening contemplation. The practices grow inside an ordinary life. They do not sit on top of it.

This closing essay is an invitation to begin without pressure. You don’t need every practice. You don’t need hours of silence. You only need one small place to start. A moment of attention in a day that is already unfolding. If you want to build a steadier inner life without turning Stoicism into homework, this is the place to step in.

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Stoic Practices: Negative Visualization

This entry is part 2 of 15 in the series Stoicism Practices
This entry is part 48 of 53 in the series Journey Through Stoicism

What if imagining loss could make life feel fuller, not darker? The Stoics called it premeditatio malorum—the quiet practice of picturing what could go wrong, not to suffer in advance, but to steady the heart for when it does.

In this new essay, I write about sitting beside my mother near the end of her life, and later facing my own health scare. Both moments taught me that rehearsing misfortune isn’t about fear. It’s about gratitude. The kind that comes from realizing how much you already have.

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Stoic Practice: Rehearsing Death and Accepting Fate

This entry is part 3 of 15 in the series Stoicism Practices
This entry is part 50 of 53 in the series Journey Through Stoicism

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.

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Stoic Practices: Voluntary Discomfort

This entry is part 47 of 53 in the series Journey Through Stoicism
This entry is part 4 of 15 in the series Stoicism Practices

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.

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Stoic Practices: Friendship and Mentorship

This entry is part 5 of 15 in the series Stoicism Practices
This entry is part 46 of 53 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.

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Practicing Memento Mori: Learning to Live by Remembering Death

This entry is part 6 of 15 in the series Stoicism Practices
This entry is part 45 of 53 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.

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Stoic Practices: Contemplation of Nature

This entry is part 7 of 15 in the series Stoicism Practices
This entry is part 44 of 53 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.

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Rehearsing Virtue in Small Daily Acts

This entry is part 8 of 15 in the series Stoicism Practices
This entry is part 43 of 53 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.

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Stoic Practices: Morning Reflection

This entry is part 9 of 15 in the series Stoicism Practices
This entry is part 42 of 53 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.

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Stoic Practices: Role Models

This entry is part 10 of 15 in the series Stoicism Practices
This entry is part 40 of 53 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.

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Stoic Practices: Journaling

This entry is part 11 of 15 in the series Stoicism Practices
This entry is part 37 of 53 in the series Journey Through Stoicism

Journaling has been with me, on and off, for nearly forty-five years. On some days, the entries were little more than chores and frustrations. On other days, they carried the weight of loss, joy, or change. Whatever the tone, the act itself has always mattered. To pause, to write, to take stock is how I come to see myself more clearly. Marcus Aurelius did the same. His Meditations were not written for us, but for himself. They were reminders, small reckonings. Nearly two thousand years later, they are still read because the practice of setting words against the day is timeless.
In our age, the tools are different. My notebooks have become apps, and now even conversations with ChatGPT. Yet the heart of it is unchanged. To journal is to notice: gratitude, struggle, hope. To admit when I’ve fallen short. To celebrate when I’ve grown. Others across history, such as Augustine, Montaigne, Thoreau, Anne Frank, and Virginia Woolf, all wrote for themselves first, and their private pages later guided generations. We may never write for the world, but the habit still shapes us. Journaling is not about being profound. It is about being honest. And honesty, practiced day by day, is the soil of wisdom.

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