What Epictetus Taught Me About Letting Go

“Some things are in our control and others not. Things in our control are opinion, pursuit, desire, aversion, and, in a word, whatever are our own actions. Things not in our control are body, property, reputation, command, and, in one word, whatever are not our actions. The things in our control are by nature free, unrestrained, unhindered; but those not in our control are weak, slavish, restrained, belonging to others. Remember, then, that if you suppose that things which are slavish by nature are also free, and that what belongs to others is your own, then you will be hindered. You will lament, you will be disturbed, and you will find fault both with gods and men. But if you suppose that only to be your own which is your own, and what belongs to others such as it really is, then no one will ever compel you or restrain you. Further, you will find fault with no one or accuse no one. You will do nothing against your will. No one will hurt you, you will have no enemies, and you not be harmed.” Epictetus, Enchiridion

Epictetus was a Stoic philosopher and former slave who lived nearly 2,000 years ago. I read this passage years ago and thought I understood it. I didn’t. And I keep needing to relearn it, especially the part about suffering over things I can’t control.

The Second Suffering

Some people suffer twice. Once while doing the work, and again while worrying about the result. The first kind of suffering makes sense. Hard work is supposed to be hard. But the second one? That’s self-inflicted, and most people don’t even realize they’re doing it.

Having a goal matters. A deep sense of where you want to go is important. But there’s a difference between aiming toward something and obsessing over whether you’ll get there. The moment you shift from “am I doing this well” to “will this work out,” your execution drops. Instead of focusing on the present, on what’s right in front of you, you spend energy on something you can’t control. And the worst part is, the worrying doesn’t change the outcome. It just steals the joy from the process.

This isn’t about not caring. It’s about caring about the right things at the right time.

It Happens More Than You Think

I train for local cycling events here in Cebu. I put in the work, show up early, push through intervals. But no matter how hard I train, I catch myself worrying about where I’ll place. Cebu has a lot of really strong cyclists. Their performance on race day is completely outside my control. I can only control how I prepare and how I ride.

I once built something I was really excited about. I wanted to solve a problem I was personally experiencing, and I felt other people were dealing with the same thing. But before I even finished, the worry crept in. What if nobody uses it? What if the effort is wasted? I can build the best thing I’m capable of building, but I can’t force people to care about it.

And then there’s sharing ideas. I give talks sometimes, and I worry that people won’t agree with what I’m saying. Everyone has different opinions, and you can’t please all of them. That’s just reality. But accepting that is harder than it sounds. The worry isn’t really about being wrong. It’s about being rejected for what you believe.

Three different situations, same trap. Do something meaningful, then let the worry about other people’s reactions poison the experience.

The Archer and the Target

Here’s a metaphor I once read that stuck with me. I can’t remember where I first heard it, but it goes like this.

Imagine you’re an archer, and there’s a target in front of you. You take your time. You steady your breathing, adjust your stance, aim carefully. You do everything right. Then you release the arrow.

But the wind picks up. Or the bowstring snaps. Or the target shifts at the last moment. No matter how perfect your aim was, the outcome was never fully yours to decide.

The archer’s only job is to aim well and release. Everything after that is out of their hands. That’s where “things in our control” ends, exactly like Epictetus described.

When I think about my cycling, my aim is the training. Race day results are the wind. When I think about building something, the work is the aim. Whether people show up is the wind. When I share my ideas in a talk, the preparation is the aim. Other people’s opinions are the wind.

I share this metaphor often with people around me who face the same kind of worry. It helps to have a picture for something that’s hard to put into words.

What Changes When You Let Go

When you stop worrying about results, something shifts. You become more consistent because you’re not constantly second-guessing yourself. Your focus sharpens because you’re only thinking about what’s in front of you, not what might happen later. And you actually start enjoying the process instead of dreading the verdict.

Setbacks hit less hard because you already expected that some things are out of your hands. You free up mental energy that was being wasted on things you couldn’t change. And you stop needing external validation to feel good about your work. The effort itself becomes enough.

Over time, you build a healthier relationship with effort itself. You do the work because it matters to you, not because you need a specific outcome to justify it.

This doesn’t mean you stop wanting to win or succeed. It means you stop letting that want interfere with the work.

The Practice

This isn’t a one-time realization. It’s a daily practice, like training a muscle. You’ll catch yourself worrying again, and that’s okay. The goal isn’t to never care about outcomes. It’s to not let them consume you.

Every time you catch yourself and refocus on the work, you get a little better at it. If we can practice this diligently, we’ll be happier. Not because life gets easier, but because we stop making it harder than it needs to be.

Epictetus said it best: “You will do nothing against your will. No one will hurt you, you will have no enemies, and you will not be harmed.”

Aim well. Release the arrow. Trust the process.