All the Seasons at Once

This entry is in the series Journey Through Stoicism

A year and a half ago, a simple text from my pastor, Rev. Magrey deVega, introduced me to two Latin words I’d never heard before: memento mori. Remember that you must die. That short exchange led me to explore Stoicism, mostly out of intellectual curiosity. I had no idea how important those ancient ideas would become when life started throwing surprises my way.

This past Sunday, Magrey preached on Ecclesiastes and once again mentioned the Stoics. It seems he still has more homework for me. His sermon explored an interesting idea about life’s changing seasons. We usually think of those seasons as coming one after another, but what if several show up at the same time?

In the last eighteen months, I’ve grieved while rebuilding my professional life, found moments of happiness amid uncertainty, and discovered how much steadiness can come from ordinary daily routines. Magrey’s interpretation of Ecclesiastes gave biblical words to what I’d been learning through Stoicism. It also reminded me that many religious and philosophical traditions reach similar insights about change, acceptance, and our limited time.

In All the Seasons at Once, I look back at how a simple curiosity became something deeply personal, and how Ecclesiastes added a new layer to that journey. It’s a reflection on finding hope in uncertain times, learning to value ordinary days, and realizing that grief and happiness can sometimes happen together.

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Friendship and Impermanence

This entry is in the series Journey Through Stoicism

Friendships are among life’s most unpredictable gifts. Some arrive for only a brief season, while others feel like they’ll last forever. Yet nothing is promised. A letter from an old college friend recently reminded me of this truth with painful clarity: he chose silence, not because of anger, but because life had drained him of the energy to stay connected. His message closed the door on our relationship, and with it came both relief and grief. Relief that I had not harmed the friendship, grief that its time had ended.
The Stoics teach us that everything we hold dear is on loan from fortune and will one day be reclaimed. That includes the people we love and the friendships that sustain us. Loss, they say, is not theft but the return of what was never fully ours. To see relationships this way doesn’t erase sorrow, but it reshapes it. Gratitude can take the place of clinging, and memory can remain as a reminder of both the gift and the impermanence of friendship.

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