I didn’t meet the Stoics in a classroom. I met them in the middle of stress, overcommitment, and that quiet feeling of “never enough.” This is the honest letter I wish someone had handed me at 20 — the Stoic wisdom that would’ve saved me years of anxiety, second-guessing, and chasing the wrong scoreboard._

When I was 20, I thought the formula for a good life was simple:

– Say yes to everything.
– Impress everyone.
– Hold it all together.
– Run around the clock

If I was exhausted, I took it as a sign that I was “on the right track.” If I was anxious, I assumed that meant I was doing something important.

No one ever sat me down and said:

_”Most of what you’re stressed about doesn’t matter. And the things that do matter? You’re barely touching them.”_

I didn’t discover Stoicism in a classroom. It showed up much later — right when the pressure, the expectations, and the weight of trying to be everything to everyone finally became unsustainable.

By the time I found Marcus Aurelius, Seneca, and Epictetus, I had spent years trying to control everything except the one thing truly in my hands:

– How I think.
– How I respond.
– How I live.

If you’re younger than me, consider this the conversation I wish someone had with me before I burned so much energy on the wrong things. If you’re older, the Stoics would say you’re not late — you’re right on time.

When Everything Feels Important, Nothing Really Is

In my twenties, every minor frustration felt like a major event.

Traffic made me furious. Not receiving a text back made me anxious. One critical comment could follow me around for days.

If something bothered me, I assumed it _deserved_ my full attention.

The Stoics would’ve looked at that younger version of me and said:

“You’re handing out front-row seats to anything that knocks on the door.”

They taught a distinction that seems simple but changes everything: **what you can control, and what you can’t.**

I’d heard that idea before, but I hadn’t lived it.

I tried to manage:

– People’s opinions
– Timing
– Outcomes
– Random events

And I neglected the one domain that was entirely mine: **my own choices, my own reactions, my own story about what was happening.**

Stoicism wouldn’t have made my life less chaotic. It just would’ve stopped me from letting _everything_ matter equally.

It would’ve given me permission to say:

“This is annoying, but it doesn’t get to run my whole day.”

Looking back, I can’t tell you how many nights I would’ve slept better if I’d known that truth.

The Day I Realized My Thoughts Weren’t the News

For years, I believed a lie without even knowing it:

“If I think it, it must be true.”

If the thought appeared — _You’re behind… you’re not good enough… everyone else is doing better than you_ — I didn’t push back. I just accepted it.

I thought my mind was reporting the news.

The Stoics would’ve disagreed.

Epictetus would’ve said: **You’re not your thoughts. You’re the one who decides whether to invite them in.**

That distinction would’ve changed my entire life, and it does today.

Because the moment you can say, “I’m _having the thought_ that I’m behind,” you create space.

– A breath.
– A pause.
– A moment of sanity.

You stop letting every insecure thought drag you around by the collar. You start asking: “Is this thought useful? Is it true? And even if it is… what do I want to do now?”

Stoicism didn’t eliminate my self-doubt. It just gave me back the steering wheel.

Hard Doesn’t Mean You Chose Wrong

In my twenties, whenever something got hard, I immediately wondered if I’d made a mistake. If a job felt overwhelming, maybe it wasn’t right for me. If a relationship became complicated, perhaps it wasn’t “meant to be.” If a goal took longer than expected, maybe I wasn’t capable. I treated ease as confirmation and difficulty as danger.

The Stoics saw it differently.

They didn’t go searching for pain, but they weren’t surprised by it. To them, difficulty was woven into the human experience — not something to run from, but something to shape you.

Seneca wrote that difficulties strengthen the mind in the same way that exercise strengthens the body. Not because struggle is noble in itself, but because _who you become inside the struggle_ is where real growth happens.

Looking back, there are chapters I wish I’d stayed in longer. Work I wish I hadn’t abandoned. Conversations I wish I’d had. Dreams I wish I’d pursued past the first uncomfortable stretch.

Not every hard thing deserves loyalty. Some situations are unhealthy.

But Stoicism would’ve helped me ask a different question:

“Is this hard because it’s wrong for me — or because it actually matters?”_

That one shift would’ve changed the trajectory of my life.

Time Isn’t a Warehouse Full of “Later”

At 20, time feels endless.

You stack future dreams neatly on the shelf:

– I’ll travel later.
– I’ll be honest later.
– I’ll fix that relationship later.
– I’ll start living differently later.

Later feels like a guarantee.

The Stoics refused to live with that delusion.

_Memento mori_ wasn’t a dark idea to them. It was clarity. Marcus Aurelius wrote, _”You could leave life right now.” _Not as a threat — but as a reminder:

**Stop postponing your real life.**

When I finally let that idea sink in, it didn’t make me anxious.It made me honest. Honest about the things I’d been avoiding. Honest about the dreams I kept postponing. Honest about the way I wanted to live.

If I had understood this at 20, I would have moved more boldly and said what needed to be said. Taken the risk. Started the project. Stopped waiting for a perfect moment that never existed.

Stoicism doesn’t say “nothing matters.” It says, **”Because time is limited, choose what matters.”**

The Only Thing You Truly Keep Is Who You’re Becoming

Over the years, I’ve witnessed careers evolve, titles fade, fortunes rise and fall, and reputations shift. When I was young, I knew intellectually that none of those things were permanent. But I still let them define my worth.

If the external scoreboard looked good, I felt valuable. If it didn’t, I felt lost.

The Stoics played a different game.

Their scoreboard was internal:

– Am I honest?
– Am I courageous?
– Am I aligned with my values?
– Am I becoming the kind of person I’d admire?

If I could talk to my 20-year-old self, I wouldn’t tell him to stop being ambitious. Ambition is fine. I’d tell him to build character with the same intensity he was building his résumé.

Because your résumé retires, your character doesn’t.

If You’re Young (or Young-at-Heart), Read This Carefully

Stoicism isn’t a quote you post on a good-looking background.

It’s a way of living:

– Let go of what you can’t control.
– Question the voice in your head.
– Stay with what matters, even when it’s hard.
– Spend your time like it’s a scarce resource — because it is.

Build a life that feels honest on the inside, not just impressive from the outside.

I wish I’d started earlier.

But that’s the beauty of Stoicism: You don’t need a different past to live differently now. You need this moment — this breath — and a quiet willingness to say:

“I can’t rewrite who I was at 20. But I can decide who I’m becoming today.”

And that decision, repeated gently and consistently, becomes the foundation of a wiser life.