Series: Journey Through Stoicism

That phrase—Memento Mori—means “remember that you must die.” It’s an old Stoic meditation, not meant to provoke dread but to awaken us… and remind us not to sleepwalk through our lives. The Stoic philosopher Seneca put it this way: “Let us prepare our minds as if we’d come to the very end of life. Let us postpone nothing.”

So this is where I stand: older, yes, but not done. Not stuck. Just at the next bend in the road. It’s not the one I expected. But I’m learning, little by little, to see it not as a detour but as a direction. If you’re in a similar place, wondering if you’re too late, too tired, too tangled in the “should haves,” let me offer this: You are not behind. You are not disqualified. You are standing right where your next beginning begins. “The obstacle is the way.”

In a world that constantly shouts at us—“Buy this! Be that! Hurry up!”—It’s easy to lose sight of what truly matters. New trends, metrics, or moral panics are always trying to claim your time and energy. This raises a profound question: What is truly worth living for? The pursuit of the highest good is not simple. It demands something of us—sometimes a great deal. It requires saying no when saying yes would be easier. It calls for patience when the world rewards immediate reactions. It demands courage when fear would be much more convenient. But it is also freeing. When you let go of the need to gain everyone’s approval, avoid every mistake, or secure every possible outcome, you begin to live with more peace, not because your life is perfect, but because your intent is clear.

In a recent sermon titled Trusting God in Life’s Transitions, my pastor, Rev. Magrey deVega, offered a line that I had to write down: “Actions without contemplation are unrooted, and contemplation without action is inconsequential.” For me, this landed in the middle of a personal storm. I find myself in a significant life transition. I’ve been warned of a likely layoff. My company is a federal contractor, and with contracts drying up, so might my role. While I’ve technically reached retirement age, I’m still eight months shy of qualifying for my full benefits age. I love what I do. I’m healthy and engaged, and I still have more to offer. But I’m also not as financially prepared as I wish I were. And I know—painfully well—the ageism that exists in the job market. It’s a lot to sit with.

“You may choose to look away, but you can never again say you did not know.” —William Wilberforce There are moments in life when we are confronted with a clear, morally unambiguous truth that strips away all our comfortable illusions. Wilberforce’s words aren’t just a condemnation of apathy but an indictment of complicity. Once you’ve seen injustice, silence is no longer neutral. It’s a choice. Ancient Stoics would have understood this. For all their restraint and talk of inner calm, the Stoics were not spectators. They believed in moral clarity and civic virtue. To live a good life was not to retreat from the world but to meet it head-on—with courage, justice, and integrity.

“Listen to lead.” I saw this phrase this past week while walking through the vendor area at the Florida Annual Conference of the United Methodist Church. Palm Beach Atlantic University had it on stickers and t-shirts. It caused me to pause for a moment. I’ve been on a contemplative journey lately that started with a challenge to consider some lessons from the Stoics. I’d been looking for the next topic; inspiration struck when I saw that sticker.

I was warned this day might come—and now it has. The call came. I’ve been laid off. Even this—the disappointment, the uncertainty—can become fuel, not in the sense of revenge or retribution but in the sense of transformation. What has been taken from me can become something I rebuild, redirect, or refine, but only if I stay in motion. “It’s not what happens to you but how you react to it that matters.”

Every human being craves belonging. It’s why we form communities, join movements, wear team colors, and fly flags. We long for connection. But that longing can also become a trap, especially when our sense of worth is tied to others’ approval. In a time of personal upheaval, when you’ve lost a job or face uncertainty in your role or identity, the question of “Where do I belong?” can feel especially heavy. The layoffs, the narrowed opportunities, and the shifting terrain of social and political support can leave one feeling untethered and drifting. But Stoicism offers a grounding perspective. The Stoic does not belong to a company, a title, or even a particular season of life. The Stoic belongs to reason, to virtue, to nature. And those, as Marcus Aurelius wrote, are always with us, always within reach.

Discover how a simple fortune cookie led to a deeper understanding of Stoic wisdom. Explore the idea that true success lies not in status or wealth but in mastering inner calm. A quiet moment over dinner revealed a profound truth: inner peace, not external achievement, may be the ultimate form of success. This reflection explores the connection between Stoic philosophy and the serenity that comes from within.

We often imagine philosophy as a distant, academic pursuit that can seem abstract and untethered. But Stoicism has never been like that. From its earliest roots in ancient Greece, Stoicism was always meant to be lived, not just studied. It was forged not in ivory towers but in marketplaces, battlefields, and courtrooms. Its great teachers, Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius, and Seneca, weren’t cloistered scholars. They were slaves, emperors, and advisors. They lived in the thick of things, often in perilous times, as do we. In our current world, shaped by uncertainty, political upheaval, global conflict, and the erosion of trust in institutions, many of us are looking for something steady. Not false reassurance. Not a distraction. But clarity. A framework that doesn’t promise control over the chaos but a way to remain centered within it.

This past Saturday, June 21, I attended a live performance of Hidden Brain, hosted by Shankar Vedantam. The theme of the show was how perception shapes our choices. It offered seven short insights, each compelling in its own way. But for me, the most powerful came right at the beginning. Vedantam opened with the story of Admiral James Stockdale. Most people remember him as Ross Perot’s running mate in 1992. In the vice-presidential debate, he opened awkwardly with, “Who am I? Why am I here?” That moment became a punchline, though I’m sure he was being his naturally insightful self. What didn’t make the headlines was the life he had already lived. That life included years of study, intense personal discipline, and an unmatched example of inner strength.