Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 12.21

Consider that before long you will be nobody and nowhere, nor will any of the things exist that you now see, nor any of those who are now living.

For all things are formed by Nature to change and be turned, and to perish, in order that other things in continuous succession may exist.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 12.21 (tr Long)

A phrase I remember quite commonly in my younger days was “being somebody.” I honestly did not understand what was meant. You already exist, and you are already a somebody, so what is it that you are supposed to add to yourself?

Will you try to become a better man, perhaps wiser, kinder, gentler, more loving, or more committed to being just? No, that wasn’t what they meant. They were talking about making themselves more important, and by that they meant making a spectacle of themselves. They would be seen, they would be admired, and they would be remembered.

And all we had to do to understand the vanity of this was to actually study history, not as an academic discipline, but as the concrete practice of learning from those who walked the very same path we are now walking.

None of it lasts, and yet it was the lasting that was wanted. None of it gratifies, yet it was the gratification that was wanted. Not a one of the players will care for us after we are no longer useful to them, yet the names and legacies were expected to remain.

Someone I loved very dearly once told me why she would not join me in a life of quiet contentment, completely unknown, owning very little in the world, while still owning ourselves. “No, I’m making a name for myself. And you’re a loser if you won’t keep up.” Ouch. Those words still hurt.

A name? What’s in a name? It’s a label, and nothing more. Look to what it points toward, and consider that. There is a feeble body, strong and beautiful for but a moment, and there are all sorts of shiny toys to be bought, to be abandoned as soon as our flighty attention passes, and there are fancy titles to be attained, to be forgotten as soon as the next great hero comes around.

And then there are the things that can be completely mine, right now, and do not require any greater permanence. They are also gone in the blink of an eye, but they give glory for the brief time they are here: the openness to understand, the conviction to do right, the discipline to be my own master, the willingness to love my neighbor.

Everything, absolutely everything, in this life will pass. It is right for it to do so, because this makes it possible for something else to come into being. All that remains is “being somebody” with conscience and with character, just for a minute, and being grateful that someone or something else will take its turn after me. There is no need to ask for more.

Written in 9/2009