“To nature: What the turn of your seasons brings me falls like ripe fruit. All things are born from you, exist in you, return to you.” — Marcus Aurelius
In the fable A Dog Who Follows Gladly, an old ranch dog who’s nearing the end of his life is asked if he misses running in the valley.
“I do miss it,” the old dog answers. “But I can be just as happy lying here on the porch. It’s nice to think that the valley will keep on being the valley — even if I’m not running in it.”
As a human being, you’re hard-wired to think of yourself as the most important thing in the world. Because of how we’re built, it’s almost impossible for our minds to accept that we’re just tiny, trivial fragments of a vast universe; minor characters in an endless play, on stage for the briefest of moments.
Taking solace in the thought that the valley will keep on being the valley — even if we’re not running in it — isn’t easy. Even Marcus Aurelius, one of history’s greatest Stoics, found it difficult to perpetuate that kind of mindset.
But the hard work is worth it, as Marcus understood. There’s a profound comfort in knowing that the beauty, structure and flow of this magnificent world will continue, even when we’re gone.
“Soon you’ll be ashes . . . a mere name, at most. And even that is just a sound. An echo.”
Marcus Aurelius
It seems that our lives are sculpted from immortal stone, that our accomplishments are etched in steel. In reality, our names are only scratched in sand . . . and all traces of them will soon be washed away by the ceaseless waves.
But don’t lament the loss of your name; instead, celebrate the perpetuity of the waves and the mountains and the valleys and the oceans. Be grateful that our glorious world, so perfectly suited for human flourishing, will be seen and heard and felt by countless others in the future.
Be happy for them. Be happy that the universe will keep on being the universe, even if you don’t happen to live in it anymore. Be grateful that no one — regardless of how important we all think we are — will ever be able to snuff it out like a candle, denying its grandeur to the rest of humanity.