When the Other Shoe Drops: Practicing Premeditatio Malorum
This will be a sub-series of the Journey Through Stoicism series based on Stoic Practices.
Not long ago, I got the kind of call nobody wants. My boss, kind and professional as always, warned me I might be laid off in a few weeks. It wasn’t certain. He was trying to keep me, and he usually got his way.
I appreciated the heads-up. I updated my résumé, touched base with a few people, and checked in with parts of my network I’d neglected. But I didn’t really prepare. Not fully. I told myself maybe it wouldn’t happen. That I had time. That this round of cuts might pass me by.
Three weeks later, I got the meeting invite. My boss. The HR rep. I knew. It was calm and cordial, just as it had been for others before me. The contract work had slowed under DOGE, and I’d known for months this could happen. I wasn’t surprised. But I wasn’t ready either.
That’s when I came back to the Stoic practice of Premeditatio Malorum, the “premeditation of evils,” or more plainly, preparing in advance for the things that could go wrong. It’s not about dwelling on disaster. It’s about imagining specific setbacks before they arrive, and deciding how you’ll respond. I hadn’t done that work. Not seriously.
By then, I’d been reading Marcus Aurelius, Epictetus, and modern Stoics like Massimo Pigliucci. I reflected most nights. But Premeditatio Malorum wasn’t yet a habit.
I’m working on making it one now.
Pigliucci tells a story of sitting in an emergency room after a sudden episode of brain fog, not knowing if it would turn out to be something minor or life-changing. While he waited, he opened his journal and wrote to himself in the second person: If this is serious, what will you do? What can you control? What comes next?
That’s the heart of the practice. By picturing loss before it happens, with focus, not just in passing, you make it less likely to overwhelm you. Marcus Aurelius reminded himself often that life is full of briars, bitter cucumbers, and sudden storms. They’re not accidents. They’re part of the landscape. You can’t control the weather. You can control how you meet it.
Epictetus said it even more plainly: health, wealth, career. You may work hard to keep them, but none are certain. The only thing you truly control is your judgment, the choice of how to meet whatever comes.
That’s what I wish I had practiced more. Not just polishing my résumé, but preparing my mind. Facing the possibility head-on while I still had room to plan. Not to prevent the loss, but to keep my footing when it came.
If you make this a habit, you start to build emotional muscle memory. When the call comes, or the diagnosis lands, or the plan falls apart, you don’t flail. You breathe. You act.
It works best when it’s concrete. I now set aside a few minutes most evenings after my reflection time. I run through the next day or week and ask: Where could something go wrong? How would I respond? If this meeting gets canceled, what’s my fallback? If a project collapses, who do I call first? Again, not in a panicked way, but simply with forethought.
I write it down. Sometimes it’s as simple as a sentence: If X happens, I’ll do Y. Sometimes it’s more. The point isn’t to predict every setback. It’s about stopping yourself from being blindsided by the ones you can imagine.
This isn’t pessimism. It’s preparation.
I certainly saw the signs. The paused projects. The budget cuts. The quiet departures. I didn’t stop to ask: If I’m next, how will I handle it? Not just logistically, but in my outlook. What will I hold on to so I can endure without bitterness or despair?
Many of us avoid those questions. We call it optimism, but often it’s fear hiding behind a friendly mask. Especially as we age. The unspoken worry creeps in: Will anyone hire me now? Will they think I’m outdated before I even start?
Stoicism doesn’t tell you to deny that fear. It tells you to meet it on your terms. To acknowledge that nothing is permanent, and that you can still endure.
How to Start
You don’t need hours or special tools. Tonight, or tomorrow morning, take five minutes. Picture one thing that could go wrong in the week ahead. A missed opportunity. A financial setback. A personal conflict. Write down your first step if it happens. Write down what you’ll tell yourself. Then go on with your day.
Repeat often enough, and when the other shoe drops, you’ll already have taken the first step toward meeting it well.
That’s all a Stoic can do. And most days, it’s enough.
