Stoicism 101 — For Humans, Not Robots
I don’t want to brag, but I studied philosophy at A-level. Pretty impressive, hey? Except I was the only student in my entire school who wanted to study it, so they gave me an enormous binder and told me to crack on. I didn’t even get a teacher, not a single video for me to watch. Nothing. And this was the days before YouTube.
I tried my best, but my wandering mind and fidgeting hands struggled with the heaviness of the subject matter. Because it felt fucking heavy. I sat an exam — I can’t remember where, I must’ve been shoved into the back of the maths exam or something — and I came out with an E: a pass. Sure, a very low pass, but a pass nonetheless.
I passed a self-taught A-level philosophy exam when I was just sixteen. Definitely bragging.
Since then I studied a degree I probably shouldn’t have (Marine Geography was great, but I was never cut out for statistical analysis), worked jobs I definitely shouldn’t have, and in the meantime my flimsy background in philosophy continued to dance in my brain. I studied yogic philosophy before getting my yoga teaching qualification, and then other ancient philosophies including stoicism.
I’ve read plenty about stoicism over the years, some of it overbearing and misogynistic, some of it wonderfully grounded and practical. And I’m here, with my impressive and probably quite intimidating scholarly background in the subject (ahem), to dissect the most useful parts of stoicism and help it positively impact you and your days, as it’s helped mine.
What is Stoicism
You’ll be forgiven for thinking it’s a dry, male-focused, don’t-feel-your-feelings philosophy that only benefits men who host or listen to particular podcasts. It definitely seems that way. I fear the entire philosophy’s been overtaken by this brand of ice-bath-touting, bio-hacking, longevity-plotting health bros as a way to justify a lack of emotional intelligence. Harsh? Maybe. But I said what I said.
And it does have its roots in male-dominated society. Ancient Athens specifically, and the Stoa Poikile that named it — the painted porch inside the Athenian marketplace where the stuff was peddled by (probably) very bearded blokes. Presumably the women were too busy ironing (although there are some amazing female philosophers — writing for another time).
You’re not studying for your A-level so we won’t get dry and dusty. Just know that it became popular and travelled around a bit, was picked up and shunned by various emperors, and majorly influenced Christianity and Descartes and modern CBT.
The simplest version of Stoicism that can positively impact our day-to-days is this: your virtue (your character, morals, wisdom) is the most important thing. And it’s up to us to make the best of the situations we find ourselves in.
Being stoic has the modern connotations of lacking any emotional variation, but Stoicism isn’t a wild indifference to emotion, pain, or empathy. It’s about following what feels right for you as an individual and for the greater good, whilst also accepting whatever comes our way.
Control the things you can, let go of the things you can’t, and learn to understand the difference.
And through doing this, the Stoics tell us, we learn resilience, tolerance, patience, and we flourish.
Control the things you can, let go of the things you can’t. Easy.
Hey, I’m Chloe, and I’m a control freak. If I’m helping my mum with something on her computer — not her strongest skill — I deeply want to be the patient person who lets her do things slowly and imperfectly. I really do. But I’m not. More often than not I’ll sigh, snatch the computer off her, and say frustratingly “I’ll do it” before moving at lightning speed and getting the thing done so fast she’s learned nothing. Sorry Mum.
It plays out in so many areas of my life, too. And when I feel out of control, it can make me panic.
What does my moral compass tell me here? That I should be understanding, empathetic, and kind. I should allow my mum to go at her own speed. I should allow myself to feel a bit out of control, bring it back to what’s actually in my remit, and let everything else go.
I just need to interrupt my flapping about not being in control and let my wiser self take over. Then I’ll be happier.
The trick, says the Stoics — and obviously this is hard — is to recognise that we’re in control of very little.
Things we’re not in control of:
The way our elders use tech
The decision your friend makes about the job application
Your boss’s mood swings and job restructuring
Whether you get the invite
Your kid’s meltdown
The weather
Their health
Your health (a lot of it)
The news
Politics
Things we’re in control of (according to Stoicism):
Our thoughts
Our words
Our actions
Even despite our ‘raging hormones’ apparently, according to one modern Stoic. But raging hormones exist. Mental health problems exist. Chronic pain and overwhelm and so much stress we grind our teeth at night all exist. We’re not living in a perfectly sensible world, let alone body, so sometimes even trying to control these things is a stretch.
Taking that into consideration, then, the things we’re in control of as normal humans, not robots:
The thoughts we pay attention to
Our words (sometimes)
Our actions (sometimes)
Learning to understand the difference
Understanding this is relatively simple. We’re in control of very little, and we should attempt to magnanimously let go of all that’s not in our control. But the practice can be a whole lot different.
In day-to-day life, this is about interrupting the subconscious mechanism that convinces itself it has control of whether it’s raining or not. You know: it’s your wedding day, everything will be hosted outside, you’ve got no marquee, and it’s chucking down. You’d be forgiven for having somewhat of a meltdown. Until you get the metaphorical stick out and poke it through the spokes of the moving wheel — interrupting your attempts to control all meteorological process by shouting at the sky, realise it’s a bit futile, and bring it back to the thoughts you pay attention to (isn’t it nice that all the people I love are together), the words (“please pass the Champagne”), and your actions (drinking the Champagne).
Stoicism, then, is about drinking Champagne when it’s raining. I think Marcus Aurelius would be proud.
It’s not events that upset us, but our opinions about them.
So says Stoicism, and it follows in other philosophies, too. In yogic philosophy they call these ‘opinions’ samskaras — grooves in our mind that deepen over time depending on our preferences. The author Michael Singer has a great example of this: imagine you were bitten by a snake as a child. Now, every time you see something snake-like you freak out; a bit of rope on the grass, a vine hanging from a tree. The samskara you have — snakes are dangerous — is negatively impacting your non-snake life.
Now, of course you feel the way you feel about particular things — your past is your past. But interrupting the moving wheel is about recognising that it’s not the rope on the grass that’s upsetting us; it’s our opinion about the rope.
How can you recognise the shitty thought loops (I need this person to act this way, I need to be in control, I can’t be criticised, I should never see another snake ever again), thank them for being here, stop protecting them, and let them go?
What if you can feel this thing — overwhelm, fear, anger, sadness, grief… — without needing to fix it?
We spend such a massive amount of energy trying to cling onto the things we approve of, and pushing away everything we don’t like. Herein lies our problem. Stoicism (and plenty of other philosophies) teach us to allow and accept everything as it is.
“There’s nothing good or bad but thinking makes it so” — Hamlet, Shakespeare.
Easy, right?
Of course not. Our brains and beings have evolved to pick out and focus on the negative in order to keep us safe. Your brain in particular has picked out specific things to both avoid and cling to in order to keep you safe. And that’s okay. The trick is in shoving a stick through the moving wheel of your automatic reactions. The quicker you can do this — name the feelings, find some perspective, change your words and actions — the more resilient you’ll be.
Practices that help:
Daily meditation
Learning to notice the moving wheel of your endless thoughts, interrupt them, and sit with how you feel is precisely the skills meditation teaches. It doesn’t have to be an expensive week-long silent retreat, take an hour, or involve any uncomfortable positions. Find a teacher you like, commit to a 30-day experiment, and see what happens (my 30-day meditation experiment is available in the paid tier of Joyful. Learn more about upgrading here).
Practice interrupting yourself in real time.
Because there’s nothing as good as the chaos of real life for building some resilience. Freaking out about the weather? Stressing about lugging a 40kg suitcase across London at rush hour? Worrying about whether you’ll be able to buy a boat in ten years or not? Notice how you’re feeling and describe it objectively. I’m feeling angry / stressed / tense / worried. Where do you feel it? What does it feel like? Is it moving or static?
These are the basic principles of interoception — the art of feeling internally. Hunger, thirst, tiredness, sure; but also anger, grief, excitement, fear. Learn to feel, learn to name how you feel, and you can respond accordingly. And if you’re feeling out of control, notice the things you do have within your control, right here and now.
Practice perspective.
Does this fight you’re having with your partner matter in the grand scheme of the impossibility of your existence? The universe and our lives are bigger and weirder than we could ever imagine or experience with our slightly lacking senses. Once you get a little memento-mori attitude, it’s easier to pop out of the downward spirals.
Bonus: join me live
I’ll talk more about this philosophy, we’ll move gently, and we’ll rest deeply in my live session, What Can I Control? on September 17th at 7pm GMT. It’s an hour to get some joyful perspective, rearrange the anxious part of your head, and recharge your batteries. All paid members of Joyful get free access plus the replay, and if you’re not a member yet, you can join us for just £14.45 (that’s 20% off).
I sometimes wonder if my life would’ve taken a better path if my mentors had recognised and supported my love of philosophy and writing back then. Perhaps I would’ve studied a degree I was actually cut out for, started this career of mine a decade earlier, been more successful and happier…
Sure, maybe. Or maybe not. But none of that is within my control. As Gandalf best said, “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.” And perhaps that’s the best path of all.
Want a more joyful inbox? Come join me — I write the good stuff twice a week.
