Stoicism -- my understanding
What the fuck is in my control?
Understanding Life · 24 Aug 2026 · 7 min read
The space between what happens and what I do
I think I finally understand why Epictetus is useful to me. Stoicism sounded almost too simple at first: what is under your control and what isn't. But the more I look at it, the more I realize the point isn't controlling my life. It's figuring out what the fuck is actually mine in the first place.
Something happens, my mind reacts, then I react to that reaction. I build a story, start believing the story, and suddenly a tiny event becomes a conclusion about my entire life. Someone doesn't reply and I think they don't respect me. I waste three hours and think I'm useless. I become interested in something new and immediately think I've found my real direction. The actual event is usually tiny. The mental chain afterwards is fucking enormous.
I think Epictetus is trying to put a gap in that chain. What actually happened? What did my mind add to it? What part is actually mine? What can I do now?
I used to think control meant controlling outcomes. If I work hard, I should succeed. If I prepare properly, I should get the job. If I care about someone, they should care about me. But reality doesn't work like that. I can prepare for the interview, practice guitar, make the project, treat someone well, and still not control what happens afterwards.
And I don't have to stop caring about the outcome. That's not the point. I can desperately want the job or want my project to succeed. The difference is that I don't confuse wanting something with owning the outcome. I can aim at the target while understanding that the arrow isn't completely mine once it leaves the bow.
I think this also explains my wandering. For a long time I thought I was exploring, but I think a lot of it was escape. I'd get interested in something, get excited, imagine a new direction, and immediately move toward it. Then another thing appeared. Another language, another technology, another project, another philosophy. Because everything was interesting, I could convince myself I was learning and discovering myself.
But maybe I was simply following my reflexes. A thought appeared: 'I should learn this.' I followed it. Something became difficult: 'Maybe I should do something else.' I followed that too. Something became boring or uncomfortable: 'Let's think about something completely different.' Again, I followed it. I wasn't necessarily choosing. I was reacting.
That's the difference between exploration and reflexive movement. Exploration can be deliberate. Escapism is often just movement away from discomfort. It feels like progress because I'm moving, but movement isn't necessarily direction. That's probably one of the most uncomfortable things I've realized.
So now when a new impulse appears, I don't have to kill it. 'I want to learn Rust.' Fine. 'I want to make a guitar tool.' Fine. 'I want to build a game.' Fine. But then I ask: 'Is this an actual decision, or is this just an impression?' If it's worth pursuing, I can choose it deliberately. If it's just my brain looking for an escape, I can let the thought exist without obeying it. I don't need to make my mind silent. I need to stop treating every thought as an instruction.
This is where the terminology finally becomes useful. Epictetus calls the initial appearance of something in the mind a PHANTASIA, an impression. The thought appears, but I don't necessarily have to give it ASSENT, or SYNKATATHESIS. I can stop and say, 'Wait. They haven't replied. That's the fact. The rest is my interpretation.' The thought can appear without becoming a belief. The impulse can appear without becoming an action.
And then there is PROHAIRESIS, roughly my capacity for deliberate choice and judgment. I can't control every impression that enters my mind, but I can work on what I do with it. So the structure becomes: event → impression → examination → assent or rejection → choice → action.
This is where I see the connection with Advaita Vedanta. Advaita asks me: WHO AM I? It makes me look at thoughts, emotions and experiences that constantly change and question whether the changing thing can really be the deepest meaning of 'I'. Stoicism asks something different: WHAT IS MINE TO CHOOSE?
So I can use them as two lenses. Advaita: 'Is this thought actually me?' Stoicism: 'Regardless of whether this thought appeared, what am I going to do?' One investigates identification. The other investigates agency. And I fucking like that combination.
I also think this changes how I understand suffering. Some suffering is unavoidable. Loss happens, rejection happens, failure happens. But there is another layer I manufacture by fighting reality inside my own head. Something happened. I wanted something else to have happened. Reality said no. Then I spent six hours arguing with reality. That's absurd.
The past doesn't negotiate. Another person's decision doesn't negotiate. An outcome that already happened doesn't negotiate. So instead of asking, 'Why did this happen to me?', I can ask, 'Okay. This happened. What remains mine?' Maybe nothing can change the event, but my next action still exists.
I don't want to turn this into another productivity system either. I want to experiment with it. When something disturbs me, I ask: EVENT — what actually happened? IMPRESSION — what did my mind tell me it meant? CONTROL — what part is mine? ASSENT — am I treating my interpretation as fact? CHOICE — what can I do now? REST — what must I leave to reality?
I think that's what this philosophy is giving me. Not control over the world, but control over my participation in it. I can't control what appears in my mind, other people, every event, or every outcome. But I can stop. I can look. I can question the impression. I can choose. And then I can act.
Because maybe my biggest problem wasn't that I had too many thoughts. It was that I treated my thoughts like commands. Every new interest became a possible new direction. Every discomfort needed an escape. Every failure needed a conclusion about who I was. Every uncertainty needed to be solved immediately. So I kept moving, and because I kept moving, I mistook movement for growth.
Maybe some of my wandering was my mind trying to escape the exact things that required me to sit still and choose: the boring work, the uncertainty, the possibility of failure, the possibility that I might have to stay with something long enough to become good at it.
I don't want to kill my curiosity. I don't want to become indifferent. I still want to explore guitar, programming, philosophy, games, mathematics, physics, and whatever genuinely catches me. What I want to change is the relationship. I want to be able to say, 'I'm interested in this,' without immediately saying, 'Therefore I must abandon everything and become this.' I want to be able to say, 'I'm afraid,' without immediately saying, 'Therefore I need to escape.'
Maybe that's how these philosophies are making me more me. Not by giving me a new personality or a perfect answer, but by removing some of the automatic bullshit between what I experience and what I choose.
Advaita is teaching me to question the thing I call 'I.' Epictetus is teaching me to question the thing I call 'my reaction.' And together they're forcing me to see something I had been avoiding: I DON'T HAVE TO OBEY EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENS INSIDE ME.
A thought can be there. A desire can be there. Fear can be there. Restlessness can be there. The urge to run can be there. And I can still remain. Look at it. Understand it. Then choose.
Maybe I don't find direction by following every impulse. Maybe I find it by becoming capable of CHOOSING DESPITE THE IMPULSE. And that doesn't make me less myself. Maybe, for the first time, it is what allows me to actually become myself.