When the Ground Shifts: A Stoic Response to Loss and Uncertainty

This entry is part 7 of 7 in the series Journey Through Stoicism

I was warned this day might come—and now it has. The call came. I’ve been laid off.

It’s not a total surprise. But that doesn’t make it easy. I still have work in me—good, meaningful work in a field I care about. I’m not quite at full retirement age, and like many, I’m not as financially prepared as I wish. I’d hoped for eight more months, some stability, a better handoff into the next chapter. Instead, I find myself staring into the uncertainty of a turbulent economy, a volatile political climate, and a job market that isn’t especially welcoming to someone further along in their career.

I’m disoriented. I’m concerned. And yes, I’m afraid. But the Stoics have something to say about that. Epictetus, once enslaved and later a teacher of emperors, said:

“It’s not what happens to you but how you react to it that matters.”

That’s Stoicism in its distilled form—not a denial of emotion, but a refusal to be ruled by it. Not the dismissal of fear but a decision not to let fear define the next move.

Right now, the ground has shifted under me. I’ve lost a role. Still, I haven’t lost my ability to respond. To reflect. To reframe.

Modern Stoic thinker Massimo Pigliucci reminds us that philosophy isn’t for the lecture hall—it’s for the fire. He writes, “The point is not to be unfeeling. It’s to understand what is truly up to us—and act accordingly.”

I can’t control the budget cuts or the political winds threatening Medicare and Social Security.But I can try to control how I meet this moment with discipline, clarity, and dignity.

This layoff isn’t just about losing a paycheck. It’s about being interrupted in something I still value. No particular job is perfect. Still, I love the work—the deep, consultative challenge of records management, building systems that matter, and solving the puzzles that live at the intersection of law, technology, and trust.

To be told, “We can’t afford this due to things out of your control” lands with weight. But it doesn’t mean I’m done. And it certainly doesn’t mean I’m without purpose. Pierre Hadot, a 20th-century philosopher and historian of Stoicism, described philosophy as a “spiritual exercise”—something we live, not study. When life breaks its promises, we don’t collapse. We return to the practice. To what remains steady inside us when the world feels anything but.

There’s a hard phrase in Stoicism: Amor Fati. It means “love of fate.” Not tolerate fate. Not survive fate. Love it.

That doesn’t mean we’re meant to be cheerful about hardship. It means we are meant to meet it without resentment, to ask not “Why me?” but “What now?” Marcus Aurelius, who knew loss, betrayal, and exhaustion better than most modern CEOs, wrote:

“A blazing fire makes flame and brightness out of everything that is thrown into it.”

I’m trying to remember that right now.

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.

One of the clearest voices in contemporary Stoicism, Ryan Holiday, often writes about failure and setbacks. His book The Obstacle Is the Way (which I’ve recently written on) popularizes a core Stoic insight: the very thing that seems to be blocking us may be the path.

Holiday writes:

“Whatever we face, we have a choice: Will we be blocked, or will we advance?”

I don’t know what’s next. And I won’t pretend that bouncing back now is the same as it would have been earlier in life. But I know this: I’m not out of value. I’m not out of strength. And I’m not out of integrity. Stoicism doesn’t promise quick success. It promises that character is not contingent on outcomes, dignity is not dependent on stability, and meaning is not reserved for the young or the lucky.

I’m writing more to generate ideas and moving my body. I’m making space each day for reflection, not just panic or reaction. I’m trying to live what I believe. As I wrote in My Creed, “I believe in paying attention.” Now more than ever, that matters.

There’s no false hope in Stoicism. Just the steadiness of putting one foot in front of the other. Just the daily discipline of meeting life as it is—and showing up anyway. So here I am. Laid off, not broken. Still walking. Still willing. Still trying to live with virtue in the face of uncertainty.

Because while I may not control the storm, I can choose who I am in it.