Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 10.23

Let this always be plain to you, that this piece of land is like any other; and that all things here are the same with things on the top of a mountain, or on the seashore, or wherever you choose to be.

For you will find just what Plato says, “Dwelling within the walls of a city as in a shepherd's fold on a mountain.”

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.23 (tr Long)

I have tried to be strong in the face of pain and adversity, and I have known that keeping my thoughts focused on the deepest and most unassailable truths would help me to do so.

As the years passed, Stoicism slowly became an indispensable tool in getting the job done. I don’t know how I would have been able to muddle through without Seneca, or Musonius Rufus, or Epictetus, or Marcus Aurelius helping me along. They became my most effective teachers, not only because they taught me about the principles of right and wrong, but also because they walked with me in the practice of living day by day.

There were many times I was sure that the worst was behind me, and that I had overcome the biggest obstacles. It was naïve of me to think so, because as long as there is life, there will be new challenges, and unexpected circumstances will come my way. One such situation I had not anticipated was the power of place.

I had long treated certain places with reverence, as having an almost sacred quality. This allowed me to use them as a refuge, not only in body but also in mind, so that the mere thought of them was often enough to offer the deepest comfort in times of trial. If I had nothing else, I thought, I still had the places I held dear.

But the mind can move in strange ways, and events can unfold in strange ways. Even as I may choose to think and act in one way, I can’t always determine how I will feel. Even though I may expect one thing to happen, something very different can happen.

I began to notice that some of the comfortable places were gradually becoming quite painful to endure, and that some things had happened that made them quite dangerous for me. The haunts of my childhood and youth, so immediately part of who I thought I was, now had a whole new set of agonizing memories attached to them. The places where I had struggled to learn, and scrambled to grow up, now seemed cold and alien. I kept running into people I knew I should not be around, because they encouraged the worst in me.

Most of all, the very home and neighborhood I had spent so many years in were now a source of the greatest sadness and anxiety. At first I wanted to blame someone else for this, but I came to admit that it was only my own weakness that made it so unbearable. A drunk should probably avoiding hanging out at a distillery, and a troubled soul should probably stay clear of the temptations of despair.

At first, I resented being an exile. With time, though my pain never really lessened, I started to understand that the place does not make the man, but the man makes the place. This should have been clear to me much earlier, of course, because Stoicism stresses the merits of character over the forces of circumstance. I could still, in any location or situation, choose to be happy with my own worth.

Yes, I will still feel troubled, and I will have many sleepless nights, and I will be gnawed at by a sense of loneliness and isolation, but what I am working toward is the improvement of my own soul, regardless of the places I may find myself in. 

Written in 2/2009