I Spent 40 Years Confusing My Job With My Soul. Here Is The Stoic Lesson That Saved Me.

For four decades, my identity was printed on a boarding pass.

I was a Platinum member, a Diamond elite, a “priority” passenger. I was the guy you called when things went wrong in a time zone six hours away. I lived my life in 45-minute increments: the Uber to the airport, the time between gates, the wheels up, the laptop open.

I wore my exhaustion like a medal of honor. When people asked me, “Who are you?”, I didn’t tell them about my character or my values. I handed them a business card. I told them what I produced.

I am 72 years old now. The business cards are gone. The “Urgent” emails have stopped coming.

And in the silence that followed the noise of a 40-year career, I had to confront a terrifying question—one that I believe is haunting every single person reading this, whether you are 25 or 65:

If you take away the job, the title, and the applause… is there anyone left inside the house?

Two years ago, I realized I had spent my life building a resume, but I had neglected to make a self. To fix this, I didn’t turn to modern self-help or retirement guides. I turned to the ancient philosophy of Stoicism.

I realized that these Roman thinkers, writing 2,000 years ago, were the only ones who accurately described the trap I had fallen into.

This isn’t an article about retirement. This article is about reclaiming your soul from your paycheck using the tools of Stoicism.

The Diagnosis: Chasing “Preferred Indifferents”

We live in a culture that fetishizes output. We are taught from grade school that our worth is conditional. If you get the grades, you are “good.” If you make the sale, you are “worthy.”

The Stoics identified this trap immediately. They called it the error of chasing “Preferred Indifferents.”

Epictetus, a slave-turned-philosopher, argued that things like wealth, reputation, job titles, and frequent flyer status are “indifferent.” This doesn’t mean they are bad; it means they have no bearing on your moral worth. They are stage props.

The problem is, I treated the stage props like they were my limbs.

• When I won a contract, I felt physically taller.

• When I lost a deal, I felt physically smaller.

I had outsourced my self-esteem to the marketplace. And as the Stoics warn, the marketplace is a cruel master. By placing my happiness in things I could not control (the economy, the client, the boss), I had guaranteed my own anxiety.

The Stoic Solution: The Actor and The Role

The specific concept that saved me—and the one I wish I had understood at 30—is the Stoic metaphor of the Actor and the Role.

The Stoics viewed life as a play. You are assigned a role. Maybe you are the King, maybe you are the Merchant, perhaps you are the Beggar.

Your job is not to be the King. Your job is to play the King well, while remembering that when the curtain falls, you are just an actor.

“Remember that you are an actor in a drama, of such a kind as the author pleases to make it… For this is your business, to act well the character assigned you; but to choose it belongs to another.” — Epictetus

For 40 years, I forgot I was acting. I thought the costume was my skin.

When I stepped away from the job, I felt like I was dying because I had forgotten that “The Executive” was just a character I was playing.

Here is how I used Stoicism to decouple my worth from my work, and how you can do it right now.

1. Build the “Inner Citadel” (The Untouchable Zone)

Marcus Aurelius, who had the most stressful job in the ancient world (Emperor of Rome), wrote about the “Inner Citadel.”

This is a fortress inside your mind that external events cannot touch. It is the place where your values live.

How I applied it: I realized I had no Citadel. My doors were wide open. Every email walked right into my soul and rearranged the furniture.

I instituted a protocol of “Sanctuary.” Every morning for one hour, the phone is off. The news is silent. I am religiously unproductive. I sit with my coffee and write three pages by hand—a raw, stream-of-consciousness purge. There is no editing and no filter. It isn’t a performance; it’s a release. It allows me to empty the clutter from my mind so that by the time I put the pen down, the “Executive” is quiet, and the real me is finally awake.

The Lesson: You need a part of your life that cannot be monetized, optimized, or put on LinkedIn. If your whole life is for sale, you have no freedom.

2. Shift from “Outcome” to “Process” (The Archer)

In my career, I was obsessed with the scoreboard. Did we hit the number?

The Stoics used the analogy of the Archer. The archer tries to shoot the arrow well. He focuses on his stance, his aim, and his release. But once the arrow leaves the bow, he does not worry. A gust of wind might blow it off course. The target might move.

For years, I was screaming at the wind.

How I applied it: Now, I focus entirely on my own behavior (the aim), not the result.

• If I write something and nobody reads it? That’s fine. I wrote it well.

• If I offer advice and it is ignored? That’s fine. I provided it with good intent.

The Lesson: Your self-worth must come from the effort, not the outcome. The effort is yours. The outcome belongs to fate. If you tie your happiness to the outcome, you are gambling with your sanity.

3. The “Memento Mori” of Career

We think our work will make us immortal. We believe that if we just work hard enough, we will leave a legacy.

I have news for you from the other side of 70: They will forget you.

It sounds harsh, but it is actually liberating. I visited my old company a year after I left. There were new faces. New systems. The “critical” projects I stressed over were archived or deleted. The waters had closed over my head as if I had never been there.

Marcus Aurelius wrote to himself:

“Soon you will have forgotten all things; and soon all things will have forgotten you.”

How I applied it: I stopped trying to build a monument at work and started building character at home. I realized that the only things that actually persist are the kindnesses you show to people and the quality of your own mind.

The Lesson: Stop killing yourself for a legacy that the next IT update will delete. Work hard, yes. But do not worship the work. It cannot love you back.

The “Check-Engine” Light for Your Soul

You don’t need to be retired to feel this. You might be 32 years old, sitting in a cubicle right now, feeling that familiar panic when a meeting goes wrong.

That panic is your check-engine light. It is telling you that you have attached your worth to something fragile.

I am 72. I am telling you this because I wish someone had grabbed me by the shoulders when I was young.

They would have told me: “You are not the deal. You are not the title. You are not the quota.”

You are the consciousness observing it all.

The most dangerous thing you can do is spend your life climbing the ladder, only to reach the top and realize it was leaning against the wrong wall.

One Final Word of Hope

I know how hard this is to hear.

If you are reading this in the middle of a workday, vibrating with caffeine and anxiety, the idea of “detaching” from your job feels impossible. The mortgage is real. The tuition is real. The pressure is real.

You might feel like you can’t afford to be a Stoic. You might think, “Easy for you to say, old man. You’re retired. I’m in the trenches.”

But that is precisely why I am writing this.

I am not asking you to quit your job. I am not asking you to stop being ambitious. The world needs builders, leaders, and problem-solvers.

I am simply asking you to stop letting the job consume the builder.

It took me 70 years to learn that I was enough, just as I was, without the title. You have the chance to learn it decades earlier than I did. You have the opportunity to be successful and free.

You don’t have to wait for the retirement party to meet yourself. You can start that friendship today.

The door to the Inner Citadel is unlocked. It has been unlocked the whole time. You have to be brave enough to step inside.

How to apply this immediately:

• The Introduction Audit: The next time you meet someone and they ask, “What do you do?”, answer with a passion, a value, or an interest (“I’m a runner,” “I’m a reader,” “I’m a father”). Notice how uncomfortable it feels not to use your job title. That discomfort is the growth.

• The Stoic Pause: When you feel stress about a work deadline, ask yourself: “Is this damaging my character, or just my career?” If it’s just the career, you are safe.

• Share this warning: If you know someone who is currently drowning in their own ambition, send this to them. It might be the permission they need to breathe.