Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 9.15

Things stand outside of us, themselves by themselves, neither knowing anything of themselves, nor expressing any judgment.

What is it, then, that does judge about them? The ruling faculty.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 9.15 (tr Long)

I have always had the odd personal trait, for as long as I can remember, of being deeply affected by the influence of memory, and by the powerful emotions that memory can trigger. This has sometimes helped me to be more compassionate, but it has more often provided me with occasions to torture myself.

It is fitting, therefore, that Stoicism, so directed toward the managing of strong impressions, has been such an aid and comfort for me.

Years ago, I foolishly gave my affections to someone who considered me disposable, and I carelessly started living in a way that brought me only grief. When everything seemed to crash down around me, I found that certain places and things felt like kryptonite to me, exposing memories that I was not equipped to face. I would avoid them, thinking that they were somehow the cause of my suffering.

There was one spot, a grubby student flophouse, that seemed to have a particular hold on me, because of the recollections it brought forth. I would go out of my way not to walk down that street, even if it meant taking a lengthy detour. Out of sight, I thought, out of mind.

One day, a friend was driving me home, and he ran into heavy traffic on the main road. Looking for a shortcut, he pulled off on a side street, and I was suddenly horrified to realize that we were going to drive by that old house. I broke out in an overwhelming panic, shaking and stuttering, all because of a house.

I only have to look back at that moment to understand what I had done to myself. It was just a building, in a certain location, where certain things had once happened. That house had no thoughts or intentions about me, and contained within itself no good or evil for me whatsoever.

Everything that I violently felt, and everything that was racing through my head, proceeded only from my own judgment. It meant something to me because I had chosen to give it that meaning; it had done nothing at all, as I had done it all to myself.

The mind and the emotions move in subtle and mysterious ways, and they are hardly altered with a simple flick of a switch. Yet it was after that moment that I began to realize how I had been building up unhealthy habits of thinking, like some thick residue. It was going to be up to me to change my estimation, however much time or commitment it would take.

The circumstances didn’t make me. I made myself out of the circumstances.

Written in 8/2008