Calm in Chaos

Stoic Answers to Everyday Worry

Introduction

Most worry does not arrive with a loud noise. It arrives quietly, in small questions. What if the results are bad? What if they are angry with me? What if the money runs out? What if something happens to the people I love? These questions visit us while we wash the dishes, while we wait for a bus and, very often, while we lie awake at night. Each question seems small. Together, they can fill a whole day.

This book looks at that everyday worry through the eyes of an old school of thought called Stoicism. Stoicism began more than two thousand years ago, when a teacher named Zeno began to meet his students in a painted porch in an ancient marketplace. The Greek word for porch is stoa, and that is where the name comes from. Later, the ideas of the school were carried forward by many people. Three of them left writings that are still read today: Seneca, a Roman writer and statesman; Epictetus, a teacher who had been born into slavery; and Marcus Aurelius, a Roman emperor who wrote private notes to himself.

These three men lived very different lives. One was rich and powerful, one was poor and owned by another person for many years, and one ruled an empire. Yet all three asked the same practical question: how can a person stay steady when life is uncertain? Their answers were not magic. They were simple ways of looking at things and simple habits of mind. People have tested these habits in prisons, on battlefields, in sickrooms and in ordinary kitchens for many centuries. Some founders of modern talking therapies have said that they drew on Epictetus when they built their methods.

The word "stoic" is often used today to mean a person who hides their feelings and shows no emotion. That is not what the old Stoics taught. They did not ask anyone to stop feeling. They asked us to look closely at the opinions that sit underneath our feelings, and to check whether those opinions are true and helpful. A calm mind, in their view, is not an empty mind. It is a mind that can see clearly, even when things around it are not calm at all.

How to Use This Book

Each chapter begins with an ordinary scene: a person, a moment and a worry. Then it explains one Stoic idea in plain words, with short passages from the old writers. These passages are given in my own simple paraphrase, together with the name of the work and the section, so that you can find the original if you wish. After that come examples from different kinds of lives, then a few practical steps you can try, and finally a short summary.

You can read the chapters in order, because the early chapters lay foundations for the later ones. The first two chapters are especially useful, since almost everything else is built on them. You can also open the book at the chapter that matches your worry today. If a step does not suit you, leave it and try another. The Stoics themselves treated their ideas as tools, to be picked up and used, not as rules to be obeyed without thought.

You may find it helpful to keep a small notebook beside you as you read. Many of the practical steps involve writing a few lines: a list, a question, a short note at the end of the day. Marcus Aurelius did exactly this. His famous book was never meant for readers. It was his own notebook, in which he reminded himself, again and again, of the things he wanted to remember.

A Note on Care

Everyday worry is part of being human, but sometimes worry becomes so strong or so constant that it makes daily life very hard. If worry is affecting your sleep, your eating, your work or your relationships for a long time, or if it frightens you, please talk to a doctor or another qualified professional. Doing so is a sensible and courageous step.

If you ever feel that you might hurt yourself, or that you are in danger, please do not wait. Contact a helpline or a medical facility right away, and in immediate danger, call your local emergency number. Asking for help at such a moment is exactly what a wise person does.

With that said, let us begin where Epictetus began: with a simple division of the world into two parts.

Chapter 1: Two Lists: What Is Up to You and What Is Not

A List at Three in the Morning

Ana works as a cleaner in a large hospital. Her shift starts early, so she tries to sleep by ten. Tonight, at three in the morning, she is still awake. The room is dark and quiet, but her mind is loud. She is thinking about the rent, which went up this month. She is thinking about her son, who has an important exam next week. She is thinking about her supervisor, who looked at her strangely yesterday. She is thinking about a pain in her knee, the weather tomorrow, a neighbour who has stopped saying hello, and a news story she saw about prices going up again.

At last she switches on the small lamp, takes an old envelope from the drawer and writes the worries down. The list is long. When she reads it back, she notices something strange. Some of the items are things she could do something about tomorrow. Others are things she cannot touch at all, however long she lies awake. Yet in the dark, all of them felt exactly the same. They all felt urgent, heavy and hers to solve.

Ana also notices how tired she is of her own mind. During the day she is practical and calm. She knows how to clean an operating room so that it is safe for the next patient, and she does it carefully, step by step. But at night, without any task in front of her, her thoughts run in circles. Each worry leads to another one. The rent leads to her son, her son leads to the future, the future leads to her knee, and her knee leads back to the rent. She has the strange feeling of working very hard and getting nowhere.

Many of us know a night like this. The details differ, but the shape is the same. A pile of worries, all mixed together, all demanding attention at once. The first teaching of Stoicism begins exactly here, with a simple act of sorting. It asks us to take that one big pile and divide it into two smaller ones.

Epictetus and the Great Division

Epictetus was born into slavery in the first century, in the eastern part of the Roman world. For many years, his body, his time and even his name belonged to another person. Old stories say that one of his legs was lame, perhaps from an injury or an illness. Later he gained his freedom, studied with a Stoic teacher named Musonius Rufus and opened his own school. He did not write books himself. A student named Arrian wrote down his teaching, and also made a short summary of it called the Enchiridion, which means "the Handbook". It was meant to be kept close at hand, like a tool.

The Handbook opens with these ideas, which I give here in my own plain words: some things are up to us, and some things are not up to us. Up to us are our opinions, our choices, what we want and what we try to avoid. In short, whatever is our own doing. Not up to us are our bodies, our possessions, our reputation and our positions in society. In short, whatever is not our own doing (Epictetus, Enchiridion 1).

Epictetus goes on to say that the things up to us are free by nature, and nobody can block them. The things not up to us are weak and dependent on others. If you treat what belongs to others as if it were your own, he says, you will be frustrated and upset, and you will blame other people and the world. But if you treat as your own only what truly is your own, nobody will be able to force you or stop you, and you will not need to blame anyone (Epictetus, Enchiridion 1).

At first this may sound too simple, or even cold. Is my body really not up to me? Is my reputation really not my concern? But think about what Epictetus means. You can choose to eat well, to rest, to see a doctor when something is wrong. Those choices are yours. Whether your body stays healthy, however, also depends on your genes, on accidents, on age and on many things you never chose. You can choose to act honestly and kindly. What other people say about you afterwards is decided in their minds, not in yours.

Why the Division Matters for Worry

Worry is mostly a feeling about the future. It is the mind reaching forward and trying to hold something that has not happened yet. Very often, the thing it tries to hold is not up to us. We worry about what others will decide, about results we cannot see, about the weather, the economy, the health of people far away. The mind works very hard, but its hands close around empty air.

The Stoic division does not say, "Stop caring about those things." It says, "Put your energy where it can actually do something." This is an important difference. Ana loves her son, and of course she cares about his exam. But the exam itself, the questions on the paper and the mark at the end are not up to her. What is up to her? She can make sure he has a quiet evening to study. She can cook him a good meal. She can tell him that she is proud of him whatever happens. Those actions belong to her, and she can do them fully.

Many modern writers have noticed that some things are neither fully up to us nor fully outside our reach. Ana cannot decide her son's mark, but she can influence his evening. She cannot decide the rent, but she can look at her budget or ask about help. Some people like to add a third column for these "partly" things. That is useful, and the Stoics would not object. But they would gently point out that even in the third column, the part that is truly yours is your own effort, your own choices and your own way of meeting the result. The final outcome still belongs to the world.

There is a quiet freedom in this. When you know which part is yours, you can put your whole heart into it. When you know which part is not yours, you can stop gripping it so tightly. The worry does not always vanish, but it loses its grip on the hours when you could be resting or doing something useful.

A Student and a Farmer

Nadia is nineteen. Three weeks ago she took the final exams that will decide which course she can study next year. Now she is waiting. The results will appear on a website on a certain morning, and that morning is still eleven days away. She checks the date many times a day. She replays the exam questions in her head. She remembers one answer she might have got wrong, and then a second, and then she is sure she has failed everything.

If Nadia sorted her worries using Epictetus' division, she would see that the exam is finished. The answers on the paper are fixed. The marks are now being decided by other people, in another place, by rules she cannot change. None of this is up to her. Replaying the questions will not change a single mark.

What is up to her? She can decide how to spend these eleven days. She can rest, see friends, help at home, read something she enjoys or prepare a few backup plans, so that whatever the results are, she has a next step ready. She can decide what kind of person she wants to be when the results arrive: someone who can feel disappointment or joy honestly and still move forward. When Nadia tried this, she wrote on a card: "The paper is finished. The days are mine." She did not stop thinking about the results completely. But each time her mind drifted back to the exam room, the card reminded her that she had already done her part.

A very different life shows the same pattern. Oluwaseun is in his fifties and grows vegetables on a small piece of land. Every morning he steps outside and looks at the sky. Will it rain? Will it rain too much? Will the heat return? For a farmer, the weather is not a small thing. It can decide whether a season is good or bad. For many years, he says, he lived with a knot in his stomach from spring until harvest.

The sky is a perfect example of something that is not up to us. No amount of worry has ever moved a single cloud. Yet farming is not only about the sky. Oluwaseun can choose which crops to plant, how to protect the soil, when to water, how to share tools with his neighbours and how to save a little from good years for bad ones. These choices are where his skill lives.

Over time, he changed his morning habit. He still looks at the sky, because a good farmer must. But now he asks himself two questions as he looks. First: "What is the sky doing?" Second: "Given that, what is my work today?" The first question is about the world. The second is about him. He told a friend that the knot in his stomach did not disappear, but that it became smaller, because he was no longer trying to farm the clouds.

A Retired Man and a Long Flight

Bertrand is seventy-two. His daughter lives far away and is flying home to visit him. The flight is long, more than twelve hours, and it will cross the night. Bertrand has never liked flying, and now that his daughter is in the air, he cannot settle. He keeps refreshing a flight-tracking page on his phone. He watches the small aeroplane symbol move across the map. Each time the page is slow to load, his heart jumps.

Nothing about this flight is up to Bertrand. The pilots, the engineers, the weather and his daughter's own choices are all outside his reach. And yet his body is acting as if he must stay on guard all night, as if his watching keeps the aeroplane in the sky.

When Bertrand thought about the two lists, he felt at first that they were unfair. "Of course I worry," he said. "She is my daughter." The Stoics would agree that his love is good and natural. They would only ask what his love can actually do tonight. It can prepare her room. It can buy the bread she likes. It can plan the first meal they will share. It can let him sleep, so that he is rested and cheerful when she arrives. In the end, he put the phone in another room, made a note of the landing time and went to bed. He slept badly, but he slept. In the morning, he was at the arrivals gate with a clear head and a warm coat for her.

Later, Bertrand said that the hardest part had been the feeling that putting the phone away was a kind of disloyalty, as if he were abandoning his daughter. Many people who love someone feel this. Worry can disguise itself as love, so that stopping worry feels like stopping love. But the Stoics would say that love shows itself in what we do, not in how much we suffer. His daughter did not need him awake all night. She needed him well and glad to see her.

Practical Steps: Sorting Your Own Pile

Let us return to Ana and her envelope at three in the morning. She decided to draw a line down the middle of the back of the envelope. On the left she wrote, "Up to me." On the right she wrote, "Not up to me." Then she went through her list, one item at a time.

The rent going up: not up to her. But checking her budget and asking whether any help is available: up to her. Her son's exam: not up to her. But a quiet evening and a good meal for him: up to her. Her supervisor's strange look: not up to her, and she does not even know what it meant. But asking politely, if it still bothers her next week: up to her. The pain in her knee: not fully up to her. But making an appointment with a doctor: up to her. The neighbour: not up to her. But saying a friendly hello herself: up to her. The news about prices: not up to her at all, at least not at three in the morning.

When she had finished, the left column was short and practical. It looked like a list of jobs for the next few days, and none of them could be done in bed in the dark. The right column was long, and there was nothing she could do with it except let it rest. She switched off the lamp. Her mind was not completely quiet, but it was quieter than before. Each time a worry came back, she could ask herself which column it belonged to. You can do the same with your own pile, in five steps.

The first step is to write your worries down. It sounds almost too simple, but worries inside the head behave differently from worries on paper. Inside the head, they blur together, repeat themselves and seem endless. On paper, they become a list, and a list has an end. You may be surprised to find that twenty worries are really five worries repeated in different words.

The second step is to sort each item into two columns: "up to me" and "not up to me". If an item seems to belong in both, split it. "My health" becomes "my body's condition", which is not fully up to you, and "my sleep, my meals, my walk, my appointment", which are. "My job" becomes "the company's decisions", which are not up to you, and "the quality of my work today and the way I treat my colleagues", which are. Splitting worries in this way is one of the most useful skills in this whole book.

The third step is to look at the "up to me" column and choose one small action you can take soon. Write it down with a time, if you can. Worry often grows when we feel helpless. A single clear action, even a small one, reminds the mind that it is not helpless. You do not need to solve everything. You only need to do your part, one piece at a time.

The fourth step is to look at the "not up to me" column and say something to yourself about it. Epictetus suggested a short sentence for moments like this. When an impression troubles you, he said, ask whether it concerns something up to you or not. If it does not, be ready to say, "Then it is nothing to me" (Epictetus, Enchiridion 1). Those words can sound harsh. You might prefer gentler ones, such as "This is not mine to carry tonight" or "I will let the world handle this part." The meaning is the same: you are giving back what was never yours to hold.

The fifth step is to repeat this often, because once is not enough. Worries return. The mind is a creature of habit, and it will keep picking up things that are not up to you, the way a hand keeps reaching for a phone. Each time you notice it, you can sort again. Over weeks and months, the sorting becomes faster. Many people find that, in time, they begin to sort in the moment, almost without thinking.

A Few Honest Questions

You might ask, "Is this just a way of giving up?" The answer is no. In fact, it is the opposite. The division tells you to work harder on the things that are truly yours, because those are the only places where your effort has real power. A person who stops wasting energy on the weather has more energy for the field.

You might also ask, "What about injustice in the world? Should I not care about things beyond my own life?" The Stoics cared a great deal about justice. Marcus Aurelius spent his life trying to govern well, and the Stoics believed that all human beings belong to one family. But even in the struggle for a fairer world, the part that belongs to you is your own action: how you vote with your choices, how you treat people, what you speak up for. The final result depends on many people together. Doing your part well, and letting go of the rest, is how people can continue for a long time without becoming exhausted.

Finally, you might ask, "What if my worry is not about the future at all, but a constant feeling that will not leave?" Sometimes worry is so strong that sorting is not enough. If your worry is with you most of the day, for weeks on end, if it disturbs your sleep or your appetite, or if you feel that you cannot cope, it is wise to talk to a doctor or another qualified professional. That too belongs in the "up to me" column. Asking for help is an action, and it is yours to take.

One last question is often asked by people who are new to these ideas: "If I let go of the things that are not up to me, will I stop feeling anything about them?" Probably not, and that is fine. Epictetus was not asking his students to become stones. Feelings will still rise when you think of the people you love or the dangers you cannot prevent. The division simply gives those feelings a place to land. Instead of turning into endless worry, they can turn into care where care is useful, and into acceptance where it is not.

Common Mistakes When Sorting

When people first try the two lists, a few mistakes appear again and again. Knowing them in advance can save you some frustration.

The first mistake is putting too much in the "not up to me" column. Some people, once they learn the division, begin to say "not up to me" about almost everything, and use it as a reason to do nothing. But Epictetus' list of things that are up to us is not small. It includes every choice, every effort, every question we could ask and every kind word we could say. If your left column is nearly empty, look again. There is almost always something there.

The second mistake is the opposite: putting too much in the "up to me" column. This happens to careful, responsible people. They believe that if they only try hard enough, they can make sure their children succeed, their parents stay healthy and their workplace stays stable. They write these outcomes on the left and then feel guilty when the outcomes do not obey. If you feel guilty about something on your left side, ask whether you have written the outcome there instead of your effort.

The third mistake is expecting the feeling to change at once. Sorting is a way of seeing clearly, and clear seeing usually calms us slowly, not instantly. You may sort a worry perfectly and still feel uneasy for a while. That does not mean the practice has failed. It means your body is catching up with your mind. Give it time, and sort again when the worry returns.

A Short Exercise: The Two-Column Week

Here is a simple exercise to practise the division for one week. You need a small notebook or a few sheets of paper and about five minutes each evening. It works best if you do it at the same time every day, for example after dinner or just before you get ready for bed, but not in bed itself.

Each evening, write down the one worry that took up the most space in your mind that day. Only one. Then draw a line down the page and sort it, as Ana did with her envelope. On the left, write the parts of it that are up to you. On the right, write the parts that are not. If you are not sure where something belongs, ask yourself a plain question: "Could I do this tomorrow, with my own hands, words or choices?" If the answer is yes, it goes on the left. If it depends on someone else's decision, on chance or on time, it goes on the right.

Next, underline one item on the left that you will do within the next two days. Make it small and clear. "Call the clinic and ask for an appointment" is better than "sort out my health". "Ask my son what time his exam starts" is better than "support my son". Then look at the right side and write one short sentence of release, in your own words. For example: "The decision belongs to the committee," or "The weather is not my job tonight."

At the end of the week, read all seven pages together. Look for patterns. Do your worries tend to be about the same area of life? Do you often put things on the right side that could be split, with a part on the left? Did you actually do the small actions you underlined, and how did you feel afterwards? Many people find that the left side of their pages becomes clearer as the week goes on, and that the right side, though it does not disappear, becomes easier to put down.

If you miss an evening, do not worry about it and do not try to catch up. Simply continue the next day. The aim is not a perfect record. The aim is to train the mind to ask, again and again, the oldest question in this book: "Is this up to me?"

Chapter Summary

Epictetus, who was born into slavery and later became a great teacher, opened his Handbook with a simple division. Some things are up to us: our opinions, choices, wishes and efforts. Other things are not up to us: our bodies, possessions, reputation and the decisions and actions of others. Worry very often clings to the second group, where our effort cannot reach.

The practice is to write worries down, sort them into two columns, split the mixed ones, take one small action from the "up to me" column and gently set down the rest. This is not giving up. It is putting your energy where it can work. Like Ana with her envelope, Nadia with her card, Oluwaseun with his two questions and Bertrand with his phone in another room, you can begin tonight.

In the next chapter, we will look more closely at one of the most important things that is up to us: the opinions we form about what happens. Epictetus believed that these opinions, more than events themselves, are where much of our worry is born.