That Is Myself

A Little Flesh, a Little Breath, and a Reason to Rule Them All

Reading Meditations by Marcus Aurelius¹ profoundly influenced my life.

I happened upon it as a sophomore in college, and like many of the great books which I discovered and which discovered something in me, I found it at the right time and it spoke to me, leaving an indelible impression on my soul². Guilty of judging books by their cover, this translation’s cover arrested my attention and urged me to consider my own mortality:

A little flesh, a little breath, and a reason to rule them all: That is myself.

I looked upon the book and then upon myself, recognizing how, in and out, breath filling and fleeing my lungs, this little bone bag of flesh and fluid ever-churning conducted my symphony of being through the magical machine of my mind, some strange glittering neuron web of synapses flashing what constituted “I” into life.

I read the book that day. I do not believe a page existed without an annotation or a reflection or a star or heart by the time I closed it.

The cover, though, still spoke to me and made me realize my finitude and, ultimately, how everything I did and would ever do mattered. It embodies the definition for what constitutes a meaningful life. Everyone I would ever meet would, in some way, find themselves affected, whether positively or negatively, by how I conducted myself in the world—and everyone they would meet, in turn, would too, and on and on it would go, echoing into eternity in that way.

Everything I do matters. Everything you do matters. We each possess a crucial role to play in the unfolding of the universe.

I would like to share with you the ten passages—which proved challenging!—which most spoke to me and my reflections on how I experience them in the world.

Resilience

The axiomatic principle which most set my mind ablaze in reading this book rested in elevating myself above my suffering, of being able to look at setbacks, failures, ruination with objectivity, almost viewing my own life as a third-person narrator might scrutinize not only events but my reaction to them as and after they unfolded:

It can ruin your life only if it ruins your character. Otherwise, it cannot harm you—inside or out.

How profound! All I needed to focus upon resided solely in how I conducted myself in the world and how I reacted to the world around me. It did not mean I needed to relish misfortune, to savor tragedy, but I did need to stand vigilant against misfortune and tragedy souring my values and person. What good am I if I allow things to embitter me? Surely, this ruins my life, letting it ruin who I am toward the world and others.

It taught me that I am invincible so long as I did not allow things to destroy who I am and wanted to become. You are invincible too if you allow yourself to be kind and generous and forgiving in spite of cruelty and selfishness and bitterness.

As for how it must affect me? It needn’t. (I am cheating here by including another