I can’t shake the feeling that no one really cares for me. I worry that everyone I know is just tolerating me until I go away or eventually die. This may or may not be true, but wherever I go, I can’t escape the feeling.
It’s possible that what I’m feeling isn’t completely personal to me. It may just be run-of-the-mill, normalized indifference in a world that has grown increasingly distant and isolated. I can’t really tell.
I was a late bloomer when it comes to philosophy. The first time I read the work of a philosopher was less than five years ago, but I was hooked right away.
My first purchase was a collection of letters written by Seneca, a prominent Stoic thinker who lived 2,000 years ago. His clear writing and timeless wisdom made an indelible impression on me, and I brought this book with me wherever I went.
Seneca’s words provided applicable advice on leading a life well-lived. Inevitably, his work led me to those of other Stoics, which then led me to Buddhism…
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