(Stories of a Stoic)
Last week, I felt like a destroyer in the boxing gym. Tonight, I felt destined to be destroyed.
Nights like tonight capture life.
Tonight my new sofa felt warm and the gym felt cold.
The cute soccer moms were replaced by hard breathing, sweaty Latino guys.
The clumsy Russian with outlandish power seemed daring to hold mitts for last week, but nightmarish this one.
The host of awed kids who asked me how I kick so hard last week, had their airpods in tonight.
But I did tonight what I did last week anyway. I blasted the bag. Then the mitts. Then my sparring partner. Because boxing is analogous to life. Misfortune doesn’t wait until you’re ready.
It’s a matter of character, and not convenience, that you navigate the good times with the same grace as the bad.
This is the duty of a Stoic.