Discount Store Marcus Aurelius

I spent part of tonight talking to a Serbian woman about Stoicism.

Because apparently this is my fucking life now.

She was talking about her parents. About the system. About how things should have been different. People should have known better. Parents should have done better.

And I understood exactly what she meant.

Because I used to think the same fucking way.

Think about yourself ten years ago.

Think about the decisions you made.

Think about the things that today-you looks back at and says:

“Jesus fucking Christ. I should have known better.”

Sure.

Except you didn't.

You knew whatever the fuck you knew at the time.

You had whatever experience you had.

You were whoever you were.

That doesn't erase what you did.

It doesn't erase the consequences.

It just means you were a fucking human being.

Accountability

This is where people lose me.

I don't need you to have been perfect.

I don't need my parents to have been perfect.

I don't need my brothers to have been perfect.

I don't need me to have been perfect.

I have done stupid shit.

I have hurt people.

I have made decisions that I would not make today.

Fine.

Say it.

“I made mistakes. I did the best I could with what I knew at the time.”

We're fucking cool.

Seriously.

That's almost all I need.

What I cannot tolerate is:

“That didn't happen.”

“I didn't do that.”

“I was a good mother.”

“I did nothing wrong.”

Fuck off.

Making mistakes doesn't make you a horrible person.

Sometimes I act like an asshole.

Does that mean I am an asshole?

No.

It means I acted like an asshole.

There is a difference between identity and behavior.

Own the behavior.

Then we can fucking move on.

I Wish People Were Different

And here's the annoying fucking truth:

I absolutely wish people were different.

I wish my mother were different.

I wish my brothers were different.

I wish some of my friends were different.

I wish people communicated better.

I wish people took accountability.

I wish people could connect without turning everything into some bizarre fucking dance of ambiguity, insecurity, avoidance, and nonsense.

Tonight alone I checked whether Moonflower had replied.

Nope.

I checked Telegram for another woman I'd been talking to.

Account deleted.

Fine.

Then I went on Tinder.

I'd been talking to another woman there and finally said:

“Let's go out this week and meet in real life. What do you think?”

She replied:

“Ами може.”

Well, we can.

Yes, motherfucker.

I know we can.

I wasn't checking whether two human beings occupying southeastern Europe were physically capable of appearing at the same geographical coordinates.

So I removed the ambiguity.

Tuesday or Wednesday.

7 PM.

Specific place.

There.

Now reality has a properly formed request.

Meet me or don't.

That's Apparently Stoicism

The funny thing is that I don't consciously do this shit anymore.

I don't sit there thinking:

“What would Marcus Aurelius do?”

I don't consult Epictetus before sending a Tinder message.

I don't meditate beneath a tree until the Tao reveals whether Wednesday at 7 PM is appropriate.

I just fucking do it.

And apparently the algorithm running somewhere inside me is:

I want something.

Okay.

Can I control it?

Partly.

What part can I control?

Do that.

And the rest?

Not mine.

That's it.

I would prefer Moonflower replied.

She didn't.

I would prefer my family behaved differently.

They don't.

I would prefer people kept their word.

Sometimes they don't.

I would prefer humanity to be considerably less fucking ridiculous.

Evidence remains discouraging.

None of my preferences create jurisdiction.

Then The Serbian Girl Didn't Call

After talking for about an hour, she said she'd call me again.

I wanted her to.

I actually wanted somebody to talk to tonight.

Then she asked:

“Is it okay if I don't call again?”

She wanted to watch a podcast and go to sleep or whatever.

And I thought:

Why the fuck are you asking me?

Do whatever makes you happy.

So that's what I told her.

And then I signed off:

Peace motherfucker.

Discount Store Marcus Aurelius out.

And somehow that became the funniest fucking summary of my entire philosophy.

Discount Store Marcus Aurelius

No imperial palace.

No Roman legions.

No marble bust.

No Meditations being copied by monks for two thousand years.

Just some motherfucker in a Bulgarian village drinking gin, arguing with humanity, getting disappointed by Tinder, and dispensing slightly damaged Stoic wisdom from the clearance aisle.

I am Discount Store Marcus Aurelius.

And apparently my great philosophical contribution to Western civilization is:

“Tuesday or Wednesday. 7 PM. Your move, motherfucker.”

But underneath the joke is something that tonight genuinely fucking hurt.

I wanted that woman to call me.

I wanted somebody to talk to.

I'd spent an hour listening to her, talking about her parents, trying to help her, trying to connect.

Then she didn't want the next conversation.

Fine.

She doesn't owe me one.

But she doesn't owe me anything and I'm disappointed are perfectly capable of existing in the same universe.

I wish she'd wanted to talk.

She didn't.

There is nothing for me to fucking fix.

The Shopping Cart

And then I pictured him.

Discount Store Marcus Aurelius.

Former emperor of Rome.

Current employee of absolutely fucking nobody.

Pushing a battered shopping cart outside some godforsaken thrift store.

One wheel is fucked.

Clack.

Clack.

Clack.

Inside the cart are several slightly damaged copies of Stoicism, some Taoism with missing packaging, a little Zen Buddhism, and whatever remained after humanity got done kicking the shit out of the merchandise.

The emperor looks around at the world.

He is disappointed.

He wishes his mother had been different.

He wishes his brothers had been different.

He wishes people meant what they said.

He wishes people wanted to connect.

He wishes this Serbian woman had called him.

He wishes humanity were just a little less fucking ridiculous.

The broken wheel goes:

Clack.

Clack.

Clack.

And the emperor says:

“I would strongly prefer that things were different.”

Another clack.

“Unfortunately, this shit is outside my jurisdiction.”

And he keeps pushing the fucking cart.

That's when I started laughing.

I wanted to cry.

And instead I fucking laughed.

Not because none of it matters.

Not because I don't care.

Not because Stoicism means becoming an emotionally dead marble statue who floats through life whispering about acceptance.

I laughed because the entire fucking thing is absurd.

I can be disappointed.

I can be lonely.

I can wish people were different.

I can wish the world were different.

And I can still look at this ridiculous human spectacle and fucking laugh.

The cart still has a broken wheel.

Humanity remains baffling.

The emperor is still disappointed.

Clack.

Clack.

Clack.

And Discount Store Marcus Aurelius keeps pushing the fucking cart.