Would you be proud of what you were doing?
How you were doing it?
Who you were doing it for?
Mindfulness in each task leads to mindfulness in all things.
Would you be proud of what you were doing?
How you were doing it?
Who you were doing it for?
Mindfulness in each task leads to mindfulness in all things.
The question is not,”What do you want to do when you grow up?”
It’s, “Who do you want to be?”
How do you want to contribute?
What legacy do you want to leave when you’re gone?
It might be part of what you do for a living. It might not. More likely, it will be a whole-person approach to living.
Ask the right question and you’ll get a better answer.
At some point in my childhood, I found myself having a self-talk conversation about pain. I can’t remember exactly what was happening, but I know whatever it was was difficult and physically painful.
I had this realization that pain wasn’t some physical, tangible thing in or on my body. It was an electrical signal being sent from one area of my body to my brain, which was interpreting this event as pain. It wasn’t “real.” At least, that’s what my childhood brain decided.
I proceeded to test this idea after my realization by seeing how hard I could pinch myself before giving in to that ephemeral signal sent to my brain. The next few minutes (and days) were experiments in whether the realization that pain was only a chemical reaction in my brain could inoculate against physical pain.
Shocker – it doesn’t work like that. I still felt pain. There was always a point where I thought, “Okay, stop. This hurts.”
But I did learn something from that experiment: realizing what pain is allowed me to tolerate more of it. Telling myself that it wasn’t a “thing” in the world I could touch allowed me to feel that pain and continue hurting myself anyway.
Now, the health and sanity of this experiment can definitely be questioned. But I later learned I wasn’t the first person to come up with this idea.
It’s actually more than 2,000 years old and described quite well by the Roman Emperor and Stoic philosopher Marcus Aurelius.
“Choose not to be harmed—and you won’t feel harmed. Don’t feel harmed—and you haven’t been.” —Marcus Aurelius, Meditations
He goes on to argue that most of the things that happen to us in life we think of as “bad” are actually neutral. It’s our opinions of those events that determine whether they are good or bad, whether we’re hurt or not.
By teaching myself that this pain signal from my brain was a real thing, I removed (or at least delayed) the opinion that I was hurt and needed to stop pinching myself. It allowed me to push beyond my normal pain tolerance and endure more of it.
Let me give you another, less childish example.
People who go into special operations selection (think Navy SEALs or Green Berets) don’t do it believing they’ll breeze through. No matter how hard they train and prepare, they know it will suck. It’ll hurt, and that’s by design.
The goal in that environment isn’t to breeze through without feeling pain; it’s to endure the pain and keep going anyway. The cadre screen for people who can do that, because it’s often necessary in a real-world operation.
If you’ve been shot and you’re stuck in the middle of enemy territory, you don’t get a sick day. You must accept the pain, the injury, even the very real damage you’ve incurred… And you have to get your ass out of Dodge anyway, probably while carrying one of your injured teammates out, too.
They can do this, not because they are superhuman, but because they’ve trained themselves to feel the very real pain and keep going anyway.
So, yes, pain and injury are real. But how it affects us and our ability to perform—how it affects what we’re capable of—is often overblown by our opinion of that pain.
As you may have noticed, I’ve struggled to publish posts on this blog consistently.
Why? I feel I lost the thread, and I started to doubt its original purpose. I felt it needed to be somehow “more”—that I needed to build an audience or have an overarching reason for running it.
I voiced those doubts to my new friend—and sometimes counselor—Claude (an AI tool, not a real person).
It was such an enlightening conversation (can you call it such?) that I wanted to share parts of it here, and then make clear why this blog exists.
Note: I’m editing these answers for length, as many were quite long.
Initially, I asked Claude to research the blog and tell me what he (it?) thought the blog’s purpose was.
Nathan Coumbe’s blog appears to be a personal reflection platform focused on philosophy, self-improvement, and practical wisdom for everyday life. The blog features content about stoicism, leadership, and philosophical perspectives…. The writing style appears to be reflective and conversational, with short, thoughtful posts that combine philosophical concepts with practical applications.
The overall “point” of the blog seems to be to share personal insights and wisdom that can help others navigate life’s challenges through a blend of ancient philosophy (particularly stoicism) and modern practical application. Nathan appears to be using the blog as a platform to distill and share his own learning journey and reflections with others who might benefit from these perspectives.
After reading through his answers, I told Claude that I was, in fact, Nathan, to which he said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Claude then asked what I thought the blog’s purpose was; I told him it was to stretch my writing and thinking muscles in public. Claude, wisely, pointed out that many writers and thinkers began their writing in such a way: Montaigne’s essays began as personal reflections, and Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations were never meant for publication at all (its original title was actually “To Himself” because it was his personal journal).
After pointing out the similarities to other philosophical writers, I expressed some doubt and frustration with my lack of consistency. I told Claude about Seth Godin’s idea to write a blog post every day – something he’s done for decades and for which he advocates in his book The Practice as a way to practice shipping creative work and ideas to the world. But, because I felt that the posts were too unrelated, rather than being a coherent whole, the blog was purposeless.
After he responded, I told Claude that maybe this blog is my version of Marcus’s Meditations, written for the same reasons, but done in public.
Claude’s response deserves to be quoted at length:
I find your framing of “my own version of meditations, but in public” particularly compelling. That’s a meaningful distinction from Marcus Aurelius’ private writings. There’s vulnerability and accountability in doing this work publicly that changes its nature, even if no one is reading. The public commitment itself transforms the practice.
Perhaps part of the struggle comes from expecting each post to build on previous ones in a linear way. But collections of thought, like Meditations or even Godin’s blog, create value through accumulation and patterns that emerge over time rather than through a sequential narrative.
What if the “point” isn’t in any individual post but in the practice itself and what it cultivates in you? The consistent act of noticing, reflecting, and articulating might be developing muscles that serve you in ways you don’t immediately recognize.
How does an Artificial Intelligence ask a question like that? I was floored.
After reading and rereading Claude’s previous statements, I mentioned that one of the reasons I started this blog was to express ideas and concepts I was learning in my own words. This is still one of the best ways to learn something (i.e., if you can’t write it down in your own words, you don’t truly understand it).
Claude’s response:
There’s something powerful about the act of putting concepts “into your own words.” It transforms passive consumption of ideas into active engagement with them. Writing becomes not just a record of what you think, but a tool that helps shape how you think. The blog then becomes a visible record of your intellectual and philosophical development….
Perhaps the “point” of your blog is precisely that clarification process – a space where ideas aren’t just consumed but metabolized and integrated into your worldview. The public nature adds a dimension of accountability and clarity that private journaling might not.
Then, Claude asked, “What aspects of the writing practice have you found most valuable for clarifying your thinking? And has the public nature of it, even without a large audience, affected how you approach these topics?”
I’ll quote my response to his question in full:
“Writing something that’s coherent, rather than just notes scribbled in a journal that only I understand. Even if only 300 people subscribe, I still have to put the words down in a way that someone other than me would understand.”
Claude again:
That’s a really valuable insight about the difference between private notes and public writing. Having to communicate in a way that’s understandable to others adds a level of rigor to your thinking that personal journaling might not require…. Even if audience growth isn’t your primary goal, knowing that others are reading creates that accountability to articulate your thoughts coherently.
There’s a concept in educational psychology called “the audience effect” – the idea that knowing someone else will read or hear our thoughts changes how we process and express them. We clarify, elaborate, and structure our thinking differently when we’re communicating with others versus just ourselves.
In many ways, this mirrors the philosophical tradition of dialogue rather than solitary reflection. While Marcus Aurelius wrote privately, philosophers like Plato and Seneca (whom you’ve referenced in your blog) deliberately wrote in forms meant to be shared, recognizing that the act of communicating ideas to others strengthens them.
Now, who wouldn’t be flattered by comparisons to Plato or Seneca? (And no, I’m not nearly so arrogant as to believe I’m anywhere near as wise as them. But I enjoyed the reminder of the philosophical tradition that I was continuing.)
The rest of the conversation became rather tactical:
I won’t bore you with those details, but I will share this:
After all was said that needed saying, I asked Claude to declare the purpose of this blog in a concise and casual manner. So here it goes:
This blog is Nathan’s thinking gym—a place to stretch those mental muscles by writing in a way other people can actually understand. It’s not really about growing a huge following, but about the daily practice of turning fuzzy thoughts into clear ideas.
Writing for others, regardless of the audience size, forces a level of clarity that scribbling in a journal doesn’t. It’s a sandbox for playing with concepts that matter—and hey, maybe some of those ideas will grow into something bigger down the road. Think of it as thinking out loud, but with purpose.
I couldn’t have said it better myself (nor did I)!
And with that, I think I know what it’s all about once again. See you (whoever wonderful person you are) in the next post.
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You may have noticed by now, but…
Many of my blog posts probably seem like they’re written for me.
That’s by design—this blog, more than anything, is a way to get my thoughts out of my head and into the world. And often, these thoughts are ones I wish someone had told me years ago. Or perhaps reminders of what’s important. Or what I need to pay attention to.
This isn’t uncommon. One of the greatest books of philosophy was never meant for publication.
It was a journal that Marcus Aurelius wrote in every day to remind himself how to live. To practice what he was learning. To gird himself against the trials and tribulations of his time (and there were many). That book became Meditations.
St. Augustine also had a journal that became a book of wisdom. As did Ralph Waldo Emerson. Their musings became widespread, even though that wasn’t the goal.
So maybe you should start a daily blog. Or a daily YouTube video.
Not because you’ll get famous. Or because you’ll make a lot of money. (You probably won’t do either.)
Do it to stretch that muscle of putting your ideas into the world. And maybe also to tell yourself what you need to hear.
Who knows? Maybe someone else will benefit from it too.
What’s the purpose of a leader?
If you subscribe to Ryan Holiday’s “Daily Stoic” newsletter, you’ve probably seen he’s done a week-long feature on leadership and Stoic philosophy.
One email he wrote earlier this week stood out to me… I’ve been able to think of little else since. It’s about the sole purpose of being a leader. Here are some of the quotes used in the email:
“Happy is the man who can make others better, not merely when he is in their company, but even when he is in their thoughts. —Seneca
Another one here from Seneca:
“Nobody can live happy [sic] if he cares only for himself, if he turns everything to his own benefit: you have to live for others, if you want to live for yourself.”
Then, near the end of the email, he sums up an idea from Marcus Aurelius:
“As Marcus Aurelius writes in Meditations, people are our proper occupation. ‘[My] job is to do them good.’ When we make others better, he writes elsewhere, ‘we perform our function.’“
Summing up his newsletter, he makes this statement:
Leaders make people better.
We’re all leaders. And we’re all philosophers.
So let’s make other people better.
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If you want to create lasting influence with others, or change for the better, there is really only one way to do it:
Praise the good.
“So long as a person did anything good, he would praise him and use him for the service in which he excelled, but to his other conduct he paid no attention…”
–Cassius Dio writing about Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius
When Emperor Marcus Aurelius wanted to influence other people, to reinforce the behaviors and actions he wanted to see, he would praise the person who did the good deed. This is actually quite Pavlovian in its execution.
Remember Pavlov from your introductory psychology class? Pavlov would ring a bell before he gave his dogs food; the food caused the dogs to salivate. Eventually the dogs associated the ringing bell with food and would salivate when the bell rang, even when Pavlov did not give them food.
Marcus essentially did the same thing with those in his service: whenever they did something of which he approved, he praised it. This constant reinforcement of the good conditioned his people to do more good work in the future. But there is a second part to Dio’s observation above…
Not only did Marcus praise the good, he ignored the behavior and actions he didn’t want to continue. Why did he do this?
There is a wonderful little book who’s first chapter discusses this at length:
“Don’t criticize, condemn, or complain.”
–Dale Carnegie, How to Win Friends and Influence People
How often have you had a positive outcome after you criticized someone for doing something? I would hazard a guess at 10%.
When you criticize someone, they get angry, defensive, and emotionally illogical. He or she will justify the action rather than accept that it was wrong. It’s a natural human response. We don’t like to be wrong, and we definitely don’t like other people pointing out our poor behavior.
Therefore, the only way to get the results you want from other people is to praise them when you seeing them do the good deeds you want done. Criticizing the bad doesn’t work: it only causes resentment.
“We are not dealing with creatures of logic. We are dealing with creatures of emotion, creatures brisling with prejudices and motivated by pride and vanity.”
–Dale Carnegie, How to Win Friends and Influence People
(Of course, there are some behaviors that are dangerous, illegal, immoral, or that might harm others; these behaviors must be stopped immediately. Those sorts of behaviors are not the topic of discussion here.)
How do let others know what good actions or behaviors are? You must be a model. Do the things you want others to do; be the kind of person you want others to be.
Seth Godin likes to say, “people like us do things like this.” Invite people to be “people like us,” whoever you think “people like us” should be. Then, do the things you want others to do, and when they follow, praise them for it!
Model good behavior. Praise others when they perform good work. Ignore the rest.