Seneca, On Peace of Mind 2.1

Chapter 2

Seneca:

I have long been silently asking myself, my friend Serenus, to what I should liken such a condition of mind, and I find that nothing more closely resembles it than the conduct of those who, after having recovered from a long and serious illness, occasionally experience slight touches and twinges, and, although they have passed through the final stages of the disease, yet have suspicions that it has not left them, and though in perfect health yet hold out their pulse to be felt by the physician, and whenever they feel warm suspect that the fever is returning.

Such men, Serenus, are not unhealthy, but they are not accustomed to being healthy; just as even a quiet sea or lake nevertheless displays a certain amount of ripple when its waters are subsiding after a storm.

I am hardly a strapping fellow, but I will not get sick often. Yet when I do, it will hit me like a ton of bricks, and it then takes me ages to return to form. I do wonder if the period of recovery can be worse than the actual disease, and I almost prefer the few days of sharp pain and delirious fever to the many weeks of dull aches and draining lethargy.

As is so often the case, the patterns of the mind reflect the patterns of the body. That moment where everything hangs in the balance, where a decision will be about far more than life or death, but about redemption or corruption? Yes, I will face that, and while I know that it will hurt, I also know that it will define my purpose. The meaning in it is clear.

But that moment where nothing stands out, where it hardly seems to matter if I turn right or I turn left, and all that is left is dullness and worry? No, I would rather not face that, and while the hurt doesn’t seem nearly as bad, I have no sense of its purpose. The meaning in it is not clear.

Yes, there is that sudden and critical time, both terrifying and glorious, when all else falls away, and I need to make my stand. Then there is the creeping silence that follows, when the mundane has returned, and I need to maintain my convictions. That second bit is not so easy.

There is the temptation to doubt again, where those little nagging concerns come back. Am I really any better? Wait, was that an old demon peeping around the corner? A noble commitment must now be built into a lasting habit. I am distracted by petty things, discouraged by every pang, convinced I am about to relapse. It becomes clear that the long-distance run requires something very different than the sprint.

It’s funny how so many powerful things in this life have no name at all, perhaps because we don’t actually wish to acknowledge them. This feeling is surely one of them, where the word “recovery” seems quite insufficient. Calling it the “long road of recovery” does it more justice.

Written in 5/2011