The Anxious Emperor and the Calm Monk
Marcus Aurelius ruled the Roman Empire. He had armies, palaces, and absolute power. He also couldn't sleep most nights, worried constantly about his responsibilities, and watched helplessly as plague killed millions of his citizens.
The Buddha came from royalty too, but he walked away from it. Still, he spent years tormented by the fear of death, the pain of watching loved ones suffer, and the nagging sense that something was deeply wrong with existence.
Both of them figured out how to function—and even thrive—despite anxiety. Their techniques are now the foundation of modern therapies like CBT and mindfulness. But the ancient versions are often more direct and practical than what you'll get from most self-help books.
The First Move: Notice What You're Actually Anxious About
Most anxiety isn't about what we think it's about.
You're lying awake worried about that email you need to send. But the email isn't the problem. The problem is the catastrophic story in your head—they'll be offended, you'll get fired, you'll lose everything.
Both Stoics and Buddhists start the same way: catching the mind in the act of spinning stories.
Marcus Aurelius put it bluntly: "Today I escaped anxiety. Or no, I discarded it, because it was within me, in my own perceptions—not outside."
Try this right now. Ask yourself: What am I actually afraid will happen? Write it down. Get specific. Usually the monster becomes smaller once you drag it into the light.
The Stoic Move: What Can You Actually Control?
Here's the Stoic framework in one question: "Is this up to me or not?"
Most things aren't. Other people's reactions? Not up to you. The economy? Not up to you. Whether that job interview goes well? Partially up to you—you can prepare, but you can't control their decision.
This sounds obvious. It isn't. Most anxiety comes from mentally rehearsing outcomes we can't control. We imagine scenarios, plan responses to responses, try to prepare for every possibility. It's exhausting and useless.
The Stoic practice is almost aggressive in its simplicity. When you notice anxiety:
- Identify what you're worried about
- Separate what you can control from what you can't
- Take action on what you can
- Release everything else—not passively, but deliberately
Epictetus, a former slave who became a famous Stoic teacher, said: "Make the best use of what is in your power, and take the rest as it happens."
That "take the rest as it happens" isn't resignation. It's recognizing that worrying about uncontrollable things is like trying to push a parked car by thinking really hard about it.
The Buddhist Move: You're Not Your Thoughts
Buddhists noticed something important about the anxious mind: you're not actually experiencing the thing you're afraid of. You're experiencing thoughts about the thing.
This sounds like a technicality. It's not.
Right now, if you're anxious about something that might happen tomorrow, tomorrow isn't hurting you. A mental movie about tomorrow is hurting you. And here's the thing—you're the one playing the movie.
The Buddhist approach is to step back from thoughts and observe them, almost like watching clouds pass. You don't fight them, suppress them, or argue with them. You just notice: "There's anxiety. There's a thought about failure. There's another one about what could go wrong."
This creates space. You start to see that thoughts arise on their own—you didn't choose to have that worried thought—and they pass on their own too, if you don't grab onto them.
A basic practice: When anxiety arises, instead of getting caught in the content (analyzing whether the fear is justified, planning responses, imagining outcomes), just note "anxious feeling" and return attention to your breath or your body. The thought will come back. Note it again. Return attention again.
This isn't about making anxiety disappear. It's about changing your relationship to it. Anxiety becomes something happening, not something you are.
Negative Visualization: The Counterintuitive Stoic Technique
This one sounds crazy at first: deliberately imagine the worst.
The Stoics called it premeditatio malorum—rehearsing potential evils. Modern research calls it "defensive pessimism" and shows it actually works for anxious people.
Here's how it works. You're worried about giving a presentation. Instead of trying not to think about it, you deliberately imagine: What if it goes badly? What if you freeze up? What if people judge you?
Then you ask: Would that actually destroy me? Usually the honest answer is no. It would be uncomfortable. You'd survive.
Seneca wrote: "We suffer more often in imagination than in reality." Negative visualization is a way of proving this to yourself. You confront the worst-case scenario in your mind, realize you could handle it, and the anxiety loses its power.
This is different from rumination. Rumination is passive, repetitive, and usually focuses on uncertainty ("what if, what if, what if"). Negative visualization is active, deliberate, and focused on response ("if that happens, I would...").
The Physical Component (They Knew This 2,000 Years Ago)
Both traditions recognized that anxiety lives in the body as much as the mind.
Buddhist meditation practices almost always start with physical attention—feeling the breath, noticing sensations, relaxing muscle tension. The idea is that you can't think your way out of anxiety because anxious thinking is the problem. But you can shift physical states, and the mind follows.
Marcus Aurelius practiced physical endurance deliberately—cold water, simple food, physical hardship. Not as punishment but as training. If your body knows it can handle discomfort, it stops sending panic signals every time something's uncomfortable.
Simple starting point: When you notice anxiety, check in with your body. Shoulders tight? Jaw clenched? Breathing shallow? Address those first. Take five slow breaths. Unclench. You're not fixing the thoughts—you're changing the physical environment the thoughts exist in.
The Morning Preparation Practice
Marcus Aurelius began each day with what might be the oldest anxiety management technique on record:
"Begin each day by telling yourself: Today I will meet interference, ingratitude, insolence, disloyalty, ill-will, and selfishness."
Wait, isn't that depressing? Actually no. He's inoculating himself against surprise. Anxiety often spikes when things don't go as expected. If you start the day expecting challenges, challenges don't throw you off.
Try this version: Before you start your day, spend two minutes considering what might go wrong. Not to stress about it—to prepare. "There might be traffic. That person might be difficult. I might not finish everything." Then decide how you'll respond.
Now nothing that happens is a surprise. You're not anxious about possibilities because you've already acknowledged them.
Putting It Together
Here's a practical routine combining both traditions:
Morning (2 minutes): Anticipate challenges. Remind yourself what you can control (your effort, your attitude) and what you can't.
During the day (as needed): When anxiety arises, note it ("anxious feeling"), take three breaths, ask "is this in my control?" Act if yes, release if no.
Evening (5 minutes): Review moments when anxiety arose. How did you respond? What worked? No self-criticism—just observation.
This isn't about eliminating anxiety. Even Marcus Aurelius, with all his philosophy, still had anxious nights. The goal is changing how you relate to it. Anxiety becomes something that passes through, not something that defines you.