Chapter 7 - On the Shortness of Life, by Seneca the Younger

“To my mind, the worst people include those who have no time for anything other than drinking and lusting; there is no more shameful waste of one’s time than this.

Others, even if they try pursuing a dream of greatness, inevitably go adrift in a terrible way, ultimately overwhelmed by greed or anger. Whether obsessed with perceived slights or waging unjust wars, these loafers squander their time on earth behaving in the way they think a man should.

But those who are ruled by the delights of the stomach and groin bear a stain of dishonor.

Look at the time frittered away by these wastrels, see how much of their day they waste jabbering, talking about fantasy and nonsense. How scared they are to act! How much time they waste ingratiating themselves with higher-ups or networking or legal matters or throwing lavish dinners – for even these are par for the course now – and you will see how their concerns, whether you deem them good or bad, do not permit them much room to maneuver let alone breathe.

“Finally, it is universally acknowledged that no single worthwhile goal can be successfully pursued by a man who is occupied with many tasks – lawyer, teacher, whomever - because the mind, when its focus is split, absorbs little in depth and rejects everything that is, so to speak, jammed into it.

The busy man is busy with everything except living; there is nothing that is more difficult to learn how to do right.

It takes all of our life to learn how to live, and – something that may surprise you more – it takes just as long to learn how to die.

Many very great men, having cast off all their burdens, having renounced wealth, commerce and carnal pleasures, have made it their one goal up to the very end of life to learn how to use their time properly. Sadly, the majority of them ended up departing this earth confessing that they still did not know the secret to living correctly. Thus, most other people know even less than these men.

Trust me, it takes an extraordinary person and one who has risen high above human frailties not to allow any of his time to be stolen from him, and it follows that the life of such a man is very long because he has given so much of his own time to himself.

None of it was wasted; none of it was handed over to others. Guarding his allotted days on this earth carefully, he knew that nothing was worth wasting time for. At least that man had time enough. But those who have been deprived of so much living by public duty, have necessarily had too little of it.

And there is no cause for you to think that these people are not sometimes aware of their loss.

Indeed, you will hear many of those who are saddled by great wealth and power exclaim at times in the company of their many cronies, or their statements in court, or their other high-class problems: “I have no life!”

Of course you have no life! All those people you thrive on take it from you!

How many days has that client had from you? Of how many that colleague? How many that old widow concerned with burying her husband?

Of how many the con-man who begged you?

Of how many that very powerful friend (who you think is your friend but is just using you for the friends that you have, people he would like to know and perhaps keep in his retinue)?

Count, I say, and review the days of your life; you will see that very few have been devoted to yourself.

Don’t forget that famous do-gooder who begged the city for official responsibility. As soon as he got it, all he wanted was to step down. He would never stop whining, “When will this tenure be over!”

Having been given the responsibility of putting on the Games, and after assigning great significance on being awarded the role to all who knew him, he would then only say, “When will this chore be over?”

Today, he is praised all across town, and fills the forum with a throng that extends farther than words can travel, yet is often heard muttering, sotto voce, “When will my holiday come?”

We all rush “through life torn between a desire for the future and a weariness of the present.

But he who devotes his time to his own needs, who plans out every day as if it were his last, neither longs for nor fears for tomorrow.

How many new pleasures can any hour bring? They are all known and all have been enjoyed to the max.

Fate will dole out the remainder of a man’s time as she chooses. A man’s past is forever set in stone.

There may be more given, but nothing taken away, and the man will accept anything extra like a  man who is full but finds room for another morsel, despite not having any room in his stomach.

A grey-haired wrinkled man has not necessarily lived long. More accurately, he has existed long.

Imagine a sailor who has been caught by a ferocious storm just moments after setting sail being tossed hither and thither by a succession of winds blustering around him, being swirled in a whorl around the same course? He didn’t sail anywhere. He was just sent thrashing about in circles by the sea.