Epictetus, Discourses 1.15.3

When the man who consulted him said, “What I am looking for is this—how I may be in accord with Nature, even though he be not reconciled with me,” he replied: 

 

No great thing comes suddenly into being, any more than a cluster of grapes or a fig. If you say to me now, “I want a fig,” I shall answer that it needs time. Let it flower first, then put forth its fruit, and then ripen. 

 

I say then, if the fig tree's fruit is not brought to perfection suddenly in a single hour, would you gather fruit of men's minds so soon and so easily? I tell you, you must not expect it.

—from Epictetus, Discourses 1.15

 

Yes, it is best not merely to reword the question, but to fundamentally rethink it. Philosophy does indeed provide the remedy for all of life’s ills, though the problem is that I have forgotten what it even means to be healthy to begin with. 

 

Instead of asking why she won’t love me, let me ask how I may commit myself to compassion.

 

Instead of thinking about how I can criticize the world’s problems, let me think about how I can improve my own virtues. 

 

Instead of living in nervous anticipations of what may come, let me gladly embrace everything that must be. 

 

I may find myself feeling offended and indignant that everyone else isn’t doing precisely as I wish, and that the circumstances are not lining up in the most gratifying manner possible. My appetites may urge me to push even harder, to force it to go my way, right here and right now, and then I wonder why something inside me always seems to crack under the constant pressure. 

 

However much I grimace and sweat, nothing good can come of it. The world will unfold at its own pace, and for its own reasons, and I will remain in a state of distress as long as I am trying to impose my will on what was never meant to be under my rule. 

 

Does it feel like it is taking forever for something to come to pass? Good. It is teaching me to modify my expectations, to use that time for self-awareness and self-discipline, not for rolling my eyes and lashing out. 

 

I have never tried to grow figs, though I once had a neighbor who did, and I recall her calmly explaining how the trees were quite temperamental, and that the fruits could ripen very slowly, only when they were good and ready and never before. 

 

Learning to cook a pot of homemade Texas chili has taken on an almost metaphysical significance for me. Ground beef from the butcher is no substitute for hand-cubed chuck. Making my own ancho chile paste means I will never use a premade powder again. If it isn’t slowly simmering on the stove for many hours, I’m doing it completely wrong. It tastes far better on the second day, and touches the hand of God on the third. 

 

I may say I understand the deeper lesson about patience, and yet I still catch myself stubbornly staring at the tea kettle, or clenching my jaw when a friend does not immediately agree with what I am trying to promote. Nature never fails to indicate where the real work needs to be done. 

 

If I truly want my brother to become better and happier, I must offer him my support, and then give him the space to do his own work. Lay out the encouragement, most certainly, but trust in his conscience to follow its course. If he falls down, quietly help him up again and step aside once more. 

 

I should not feel insulted when Philosophy suggests some further training in that critical skill of minding my own business. 

—Reflection written in 1/2001