Seneca, Moral Letters 67.7

In this connection I think of our friend Demetrius, who calls an easy existence, untroubled by the attacks of Fortune, a "Dead Sea." 
 
If you have nothing to stir you up and rouse you to action, nothing which will test your resolution by its threats and hostilities; if you recline in unshaken comfort, it is not tranquility; it is merely a flat calm.
 
The Stoic Attalus was wont to say: "I should prefer that Fortune keep me in her camp rather than in the lap of luxury. If I am tortured, but bear it bravely, all is well; if I die, but die bravely, it is also well." 
 
Listen to Epicurus; he will tell you that it is actually pleasant. I myself shall never apply an effeminate word to an act so honorable and austere. If I go to the stake, I shall go unbeaten.
 
Why should I not regard this as desirable—not because the fire, burns me, but because it does not overcome me? Nothing is more excellent or more beautiful than virtue; whatever we do in obedience to her orders is both good and desirable. Farewell. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 67 

 
It will surely seem odd for a fellow like me to pursue courage and endurance. I feel no urge to grapple with danger. I am not inclined to prove my strength. If I wish to exercise the spirit, I will read a challenging book, and if I wish to invigorate the flesh, I will go for a brisk hike. Most of all, I have little desire to compete with anyone, or to find any achievement in conquest. Of all the fictional characters I admire, I most readily associate with Hobbits. 
 
And yet my many wanderings, both in body and in mind, have led me to embrace the beauty of hardship as a chance to practice virtue, such that any obstacle is now an instance for inspiration rather than despair. I no longer cry out for the circumstances to be corrected, or expect that there will be some fairy-tale ending. Instead, I hope only to rise to the occasion, to take complete responsibility for myself.
 
My hands may still tremble with fear, and my head may still spin with confusion, but that is just my instincts giving me their impressions; now it is the turn of my reason and will to do their part. In this moment, considered for itself and without being bound by any conditions about the past or the future, will I have the fortitude to do the right thing? The total liberation is in realizing that only I can make the choice. 
 
If I say it must be grand in scale, I am merely feeding my vanity. If I seek out your acclaim, I have made myself your slave. The earth does not need to shake, and no one else needs to know anything about it. The satisfaction it brings is precisely the awareness that I have done something in harmony with my own nature, and thereby contributed my small piece to the whole of Nature. 
 
I would not, with Epicurus, claim that it gives me pleasure, at least not of the sensual variety, though I do receive a feeling of fulfillment, what I call joy, for lack of a better word. In understanding how I am doing my proper work, I find myself at peace. At the risk of sounding too bookish, it is, for me, the Latin gaudium as distinct from voluptas. It is like Bilbo knowing he has finally made it home. 

—Reflection written in 8/2013