LETTERS BACK TO THE ANCIENT
For the first time in two thousand years someone wrote back.
Every month, one subscriber writes to the philosopher.
With their permission.
Always anonymously.
Always with care.
This is their letter.
And the philosopher's response.
A Letter to Epictetus
June 2026 / Anonymous, UK
"Epictetus,
You asked what I believe enslaves me.
I sat with that for four days. The true answer is this: I am forty-three years old. And every morning I still dress for my mother's approval. She died six years ago.
I built the career she would have been proud of.
I bought the flat she would have approved of. I cannot tell where she ends and I begin.
You said suffering comes from confusion between what is ours and what is not.
What do you do when the thing that isn't yours has been inside you so long you can no longer see the join?
I don't expect an answer. But I've never said this to anyone who didn't immediately try to fix it."
Epictetus Response
June 2026 / Edinburgh
"You named it.
Not the comfortable version, but the true one.
The question of where she ends and you begin is not a question of grief. It is a question of habit.
Every morning when you dress for her approval, you are making a choice.
It does not feel like one.
The longest habits never do.
Try this tomorrow, before any decision, ask: "Is this mine, or is this hers?"
Don't change anything yet. Just notice.
The noticing is where the join becomes visible."