Do you suppose that I shall write you how kindly the winter season has dealt with us—a short season and a mild one—or what a nasty spring we are having—cold weather out of season—and all the other trivialities which people write when they are at a loss for topics of conversation?
No; I shall communicate something which may help both you and myself. And what shall this "something" be, if not an exhortation to soundness of mind?
Do you ask what is the foundation of a sound mind? It is, not to find joy in useless things. I said that it was the foundation; it is really the pinnacle. We have reached the heights if we know what it is that we find joy in and if we have not placed our happiness in the control of externals.
The man who is goaded ahead by hope of anything, though it be within reach, though it be easy of access, and though his ambitions have never played him false, is troubled and unsure of himself.
I have never been one for chitchat, as I am a marked introvert in a society hijacked by extroverts, and yet my gradual commitment to daily Stoic reading and reflection has made me even more conscious of wasting words merely to alleviate social discomfort.
More and more, I sadly find myself appearing to others as a cold fish, having very little to say, unless what I say might be genuinely helpful.
And how can I best speak to be of assistance? A polite manner should spring from a sincere respect, but it should never devolve into a vanity. Diversions cover up the outer blemishes, though they just further irritate the inner confusions.
If only we spent less time in praising ourselves, or flattering our masters, or debating at length about how to make a bigger profit, and we instead spent more time in encouraging one another to act with compassion and charity, our words would be far more productive.
Life is too precious and too short for beating around the bush.
What greater end could we seek than peace of mind? What can ever be more fulfilling than an invincible joy? These cannot come from other things, and can only be found within myself, in nurturing what is inherently my own.
If I look around me, I see so many people in distress over property and prestige—they are forgetting themselves.
If I look at myself, I see both a dreariness from being disappointed by circumstances, and an anxiety about what always seems out of reach—I am searching in the wrong places.
If my hope is of the sort where I expect something to come to me, I will always be restless. If my hope is in caring for something I already possess, I don’t really have to hope, since I can do that right here and now.
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