Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 3.10

Throwing away then all things, hold to these only which are few; and besides bear in mind that every man lives only this present time, which is an indivisible point, and that all the rest of his life is either past or it is uncertain.

Short then is the time which every man lives, and small the nook of the earth where he lives; and short too the longest posthumous fame, and even this only continued by a succession of poor human beings, who will very soon die, and who know not even themselves, much less him who died long ago.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 3 (tr Long)

When I first began to take an interest in Stoicism, many years ago, I would often find myself frustrated with the repeated insistence that most everything I thought meant something really meant nothing at all. My possessions were vanities, my honor was fleeting, and my life itself was brief and uncertain.

What I did not immediately recognize was that making less of such things was intended to help me find something else that could mean so much more. Instead of defining myself by how everything acted upon me, or by what had happened or could happen, I needed only to define myself by how I acted, right here and now.

Less is indeed more, in that I need very little to be happy. I need only myself, in whatever circumstances may come and go. I am well advised to leave behind anything that is an unnecessary diversion.

I remember one of those moments when it all clicked, when someone was telling me that I should feel proud that I would be remembered for doing this or that. It came to me that it was an illusion to think that reputation could last, and that it hardly mattered if it did. What would it help me if someone knew a few hazy things about me some day, if I didn’t even fully know myself in the brief time I was alive?

Fame can give me no satisfaction now, because it is all about what other people are thinking, and it will certainly give me no satisfaction later, because I will soon be gone. It passes into shadowy images and dusty footnotes, and is soon completely forgotten.

I recall a professor, who was a close family friend, honored and praised to high heaven upon his retirement, and when he passed away a few years later, very few seemed to know who he was anymore. A few pieces of art that were in his home are now in mine, and I treasure them because they came from him, but before too long that strand of memory will also come to an end, and they will be just pieces of canvas.

Thoughts such as these might have saddened me before, but I find increasing comfort in them now. This isn’t because they take something away, but because they reveal something beautiful. They allow me to nurture only my own character, with no worry for any ornaments or trappings.

Over the years, I have learned to travel light whenever I take any sort of journey. I carry only the bare minimum, and I improvise the rest. I can then zip here and there unburdened, while I see others struggling with their luggage and growing frustrated with finding room for all their accessories. Instead of taking photographs of everything I encounter, or buying souvenirs at every corner, I simply enjoy the act of being wherever I am.

To throw away what is unnecessary is not just about things, of course, but about an attitude of living, of finding joy in what is truly my own, and being freed from all of the rest. 

Written in 2/2005

Image: Julius von Leypold, Wanderer in the Storm (1835)