Happiness

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Why Forgiveness Is the Most Courageous Gift You Can Give Yourself

Introduction: The Power of Forgiveness in a Wounded World

Forgiveness is often misunderstood as a soft or passive act—something reserved for saints or spiritual gurus. But in reality, it’s one of the boldest and most liberating steps anyone can take. Whether it stems from childhood trauma, broken relationships, or personal betrayals, resentment can feel justified. Yet, it often imprisons the one holding the grudge more than the one who caused the pain. The transformative power of forgiveness lies not in forgetting, but in freeing ourselves from the bitterness that keeps us bound.

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Understanding the Weight of Pain

Childhood experiences and family dynamics often lay the foundation for how individuals perceive forgiveness. When someone is raised in an environment marred by neglect or addiction, it can foster a deep sense of resentment. A child might grow up feeling abandoned, especially if a parent’s substance use or emotional absence takes precedence over nurturing care. This leads to a painful conclusion: “They chose their addiction over me.”

However, as adults, it’s important to acknowledge the complexity of such behaviors. Addiction, for instance, may have roots in trauma, genetics, or mental health struggles. Understanding this doesn’t excuse the harm but provides a wider lens to view the offender’s humanity—and possibly their suffering.

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Defining Forgiveness: Letting Go Without Letting Off the Hook

Forgiveness is often confused with reconciliation, condoning, or forgetting. But true forgiveness, as described by author R.T. Kendall in Total Forgiveness, is something much deeper. It means no longer desiring revenge or punishment for the person who caused pain. It involves letting go of the hope that the offender will “get what they deserve.”

This shift doesn’t mean the offense is minimized or that emotional wounds are healed instantly. Rather, it signifies a courageous decision to stop reliving the hurt. Forgiveness is the moment someone says, “I will no longer carry this bitterness.” In doing so, the burden of vengeance is lifted, and healing can truly begin.

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The Poison We Drink Ourselves

There’s a powerful metaphor often used when discussing unforgiveness: holding onto resentment is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. Anger and bitterness, when left unchecked, seep into every area of life. They distort relationships, hinder joy, and keep emotional wounds open. Many people remain emotionally stuck, constantly revisiting the same pain, retelling the same story, and reliving the same disappointment.

In contrast, those who choose to forgive often find clarity, peace, and even joy. The act of forgiveness breaks the cycle. It becomes the key that unlocks the prison—one often built for someone else, but which ends up confining the person holding the key.

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Steps Toward Forgiveness: Choosing to Be Free

The process of forgiveness can be broken into clear, albeit challenging, steps:

1. Acknowledge the Pain: Ignoring or minimizing the hurt only delays healing. One must first face the reality of what happened and its emotional impact.
2. Make a Decision to Forgive: Forgiveness starts as a choice, not a feeling. The heart may not immediately align, but the conscious decision to release the grudge can lead the way.
3. Stop Rehearsing the Wound: Continually talking about the pain reinforces it. While processing with a therapist or confidant can be helpful, obsessively recounting the story keeps the wound fresh.
4. Pray or Wish Good for the Offender: This is often the hardest step—wishing blessings for someone who caused harm. Yet it’s also a transformative one. It shifts the focus from retaliation to release.
5. Repeat as Needed: Forgiveness is not a one-time event. Pain can resurface, especially when the hurt is ongoing or has left deep scars. Forgiveness might need to be practiced repeatedly until peace takes root.

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Forgiveness Without Reconciliation

An important distinction in the forgiveness process is understanding that forgiving does not require reconciliation. Some relationships are unsafe or unhealthy to continue. The other person may never apologize or change their behavior. Forgiveness, in these cases, is done for one’s own well-being, not to mend a relationship. Reconciliation is optional and conditional; forgiveness is not.

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Letting Go of Disappointment with God

In some cases, people carry unspoken resentment toward God, especially when they believe He could have prevented their suffering. While God is not the author of sin or harm, it’s natural to question divine inaction during times of intense pain. Acknowledging this disappointment and choosing to trust God again can be a critical part of the forgiveness journey. It allows for spiritual healing and deepens personal faith.

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Conclusion: Forgiveness Is for the Brave

Forgiveness is not passive. It’s not weakness. It’s a courageous act of defiance against the bitterness that wants to define us. It’s a declaration that pain will not have the final word. By choosing to forgive, individuals reclaim their power and release themselves from emotional bondage.

This act doesn’t depend on the offender’s remorse or change. It depends solely on the choice to be free. In the end, forgiveness is the most powerful gift one can give—not to the one who caused the harm, but to oneself. Letting go isn’t about forgetting what happened. It’s about choosing not to let it control the future.

So the question becomes: What small step can be taken today to begin the journey toward forgiveness? That step, no matter how tiny, could be the most freeing move ever made.

So often, the biggest shifts in life begin with the smallest choices. That quiet moment when a new opportunity presents itself—whether it’s a creative project, a volunteer role, or a new job—and everything hinges on whether or not we say yes. But here’s the catch: before it’s ever about saying yes to someone else, it’s about saying yes to ourselves. And that might be the most difficult agreement of all.

Saying yes doesn’t require knowing how everything will work out. It requires being open to the idea that something meaningful might emerge. It’s a mindset that opens doors, cultivates courage, and nurtures long-term growth.

The First Yes Is Always to Ourselves

Before stepping into any new role or challenge, the inner conversation must happen. That quiet, critical self-check—“Can I really do this? Do I want this? Am I ready?” It’s easy to focus on what others expect or need, but personal transformation begins with getting clarity on what we’re willing to try.

The concept of “getting to yes with yourself,” popularized by William Ury, puts this idea into sharp focus. It’s about understanding what we need, what we value, and what we’re willing to commit to. That inner negotiation—sometimes messy, sometimes emotional—is the foundation of every powerful yes that follows.

Saying yes to ourselves doesn’t mean overcommitting or ignoring limitations. It means respecting them enough to define our terms. Instead of a blanket yes or no, we shape the opportunity to fit who we are right now—with room to stretch.

Inner BATNA: A Smarter Way to Say Yes

In negotiation theory, there’s a term called BATNA—Best Alternative to a Negotiated Agreement. Applied inwardly, an “inner BATNA” helps clarify what’s good enough for now. It gives permission to explore something new without overextending or burning out.

For example, when a volunteer opportunity feels overwhelming, the default reaction might be a hard no. But by considering what’s genuinely manageable—perhaps offering to help in a specific, valuable way—it becomes a tailored yes. Not everything requires a full-time commitment. Saying yes on your own terms often leads to more sustainable engagement.

That’s the real power of inner negotiation. When the decision is framed with clarity, and not guilt or pressure, it aligns with personal values and capacity. A well-negotiated yes isn’t just practical—it’s empowering.

WATNA: Understanding the Cost of a No

Just as there’s a best alternative, there’s also a worst one. The WATNA—the Worst Alternative to a Negotiated Agreement—asks a different but equally vital question: what’s the cost of not taking the opportunity?

Sometimes the worst-case scenario isn’t dramatic failure, but missed growth. A hobby never discovered. A talent never explored. A path never walked. The real risk is often stagnation, not catastrophe.

Being realistic about the downside of a “no” brings balance to decision-making. It challenges the assumption that inaction is always safer. Fear of change is natural, but letting that fear silently veto every new direction can leave life feeling static and unfulfilling.

The Five Whys: Getting to the Core

Another helpful tool in self-negotiation is the “Five Whys” technique—asking why repeatedly until the true motivation is revealed. For instance, wanting to lose weight might begin as a health goal. But asking why five times could reveal a desire for independence in old age or the joy of outdoor adventures. That core reason is the fuel behind real change.

When the why is clear and compelling, the yes becomes easier. It’s not just about trying something new—it’s about stepping closer to a deeply held value or long-term vision. That kind of clarity turns hesitancy into purpose.

Yes Doesn’t Mean Forever

It’s easy to fear that saying yes locks us into something indefinitely. But a smart yes often includes an exit strategy. Agreeing to try something for six months, or committing to a single project instead of a long-term role, creates space to learn and evaluate.

This kind of temporary commitment keeps the door open without feeling trapped. It acknowledges that circumstances change, and so do people. Being able to re-evaluate later makes the initial yes far less intimidating.

Opportunities don’t require perfection or permanence. They require willingness. Saying yes as an experiment—not a lifelong pledge—makes courage feel doable.

Growth Comes from Stretching

Stretch moments aren’t always comfortable. They come with awkwardness, trial and error, and plenty of unknowns. But they’re where confidence grows. Every time a challenge is met, even imperfectly, it expands what feels possible next time.

That stretch could look like learning a new tool, trying a new creative outlet, or stepping into leadership for the first time. These aren’t leaps into the abyss—they’re steps toward becoming someone more capable, more expressive, and more fulfilled.

And yes, sometimes things go wrong. That’s part of the process. But even a failed experiment can offer clarity and direction.

Saying Yes Can Be Sacred

There’s a deeper level to this too. Saying yes to new experiences, to helping others, or to creative pursuits isn’t just personal—it can feel spiritual. There’s a quiet power in moving from consuming life to creating something within it. Whether it’s writing, volunteering, mentoring, or starting something from scratch, choosing to say yes becomes an act of service.

And sometimes, the act of showing up is more meaningful than having everything figured out. The willingness to try speaks louder than credentials. Many opportunities are waiting for people who are simply ready to say, “I’ll do it.”

Final Thoughts: The Life-Changing Power of Yes

Life tends to open up in surprising ways when the answer shifts from no to yes. Not a reckless yes. Not an obligatory yes. But a thoughtful, internally-aligned, well-negotiated yes.

Opportunities are everywhere—but they need a willing heart. Saying yes to oneself first, getting clear on needs and boundaries, and taking that initial step can shift the course of a life. Whether it leads to a new career, a creative breakthrough, or simply a renewed sense of purpose, the invitation is always the same: say yes to growing.

It doesn’t require certainty—only courage. And that courage, once practiced, has the power to change everything.

We live in a world that constantly demands trust—trust in relationships, trust in leadership, trust in our communities. But what happens when your early experiences teach you the opposite? This is the question at the heart of today’s reflection. Whether you’ve faced betrayal, neglect, or simply grown up learning to rely only on yourself, rebuilding your sense of trust can feel overwhelming. Yet, trust is not a luxury—it’s a human need. It’s the foundation of connection, collaboration, and emotional health. So how do we learn to trust again, especially when our past tells us not to?

Trust Begins with Observation

The path to trust often begins with observation. Growing up in a household where reliability was scarce, the speaker learned early to be cautious. A brilliant but troubled father, inconsistent friends, and mixed experiences with teachers formed a worldview where trust was risky. It’s not surprising, then, that she considered isolating herself. But humans aren’t meant to live as islands. Watching others with healthy, supportive relationships sparked a realization: while trust can hurt, isolation hurts more.

Defining the Circle of Trust

Trust doesn’t have to be all or nothing. It can exist in layers. Some people are safe for casual conversations, others for deeper personal issues, and maybe a rare few with whom you share your full, vulnerable self. The idea of a “circle of trust” helps to create clarity. This tight-knit group, often very small, becomes the anchor of emotional safety. It’s a practical model for those with a history of distrust. Rather than closing off completely, it’s about filtering wisely.

The Trust Equation

One concept that helps demystify how we build trust is the Trust Equation:

Trust = (Credibility + Reliability + Intimacy) ÷ Self-Orientation

• Credibility: Can you believe what the person says?
• Reliability: Do they do what they say they’ll do?
• Intimacy: Can you feel safe and emotionally open with them?
• Self-orientation: Are they focused on you and the relationship, or mainly on themselves?

This framework brings structure to what often feels like a gut instinct. It encourages intentional reflection about who we let in and why.

The Halo Effect: Why Appearances Mislead Us

One major barrier to trust is something called the halo effect—when we assume someone is trustworthy simply because they’re charming, attractive, or successful-looking. It’s a trap. People who “look the part” often win trust prematurely, bypassing deeper assessments of character. In the workplace, the charming manager gets praise, while the loyal but quiet employee is overlooked. In relationships, people fall for looks and charisma, ignoring red flags.

The reminder here is to look past the surface. Reliability, empathy, and authenticity matter more than a perfect suit or a charming smile.

Avoidance and Anxious Attachment Styles

Psychologists Bowlby and Ainsworth identified attachment styles that shape how we form relationships. If you grew up without dependable caretakers, you may develop an avoidant style—keeping people at arm’s length. Others may become anxious, seeking closeness but fearing abandonment. Understanding your attachment style can help explain why trust feels so difficult.

The speaker shares her own avoidant leanings—keeping people out to stay safe. But with time and reflection, she began to take calculated risks to let others in, starting small and building over time.

Trust Isn’t Static—It’s Built

One key takeaway is that trust isn’t a switch you flip. It’s a process. It grows slowly through:

• Consistency over time
• Vulnerability in small doses
• Observing patterns, not promises
• Watching how someone handles mistakes

A single betrayal can destroy years of progress. But for someone with past wounds, one act of kindness can start rebuilding a bridge. The important thing is to let that rebuilding happen—without rushing it.

Realistic Expectations and Second Chances

Past experiences often make us overly strict. “One wrong move and I’m done,” the speaker admits. But sometimes people make mistakes without malicious intent. Part of growing in trust is learning discernment—not naivety, but also not a hair-trigger cutoff for every flaw. Trustworthy people show remorse, accountability, and a desire to repair. They’re worth a second look.

Final Thoughts: Why Trust Is Worth the Risk

Why even bother? Why risk being hurt again? The answer is simple but powerful: we need each other. We were built for connection. Real, honest relationships make life richer. They give us the courage to grow, to change, and to live fully.

Not everyone deserves your trust. But someone does. And finding that someone starts with small steps—shared laughs, thoughtful conversations, moments of vulnerability. When you do find people who are loyal, empathetic, and consistent—hold onto them. They’re rare. And they’re worth the risk.

Conclusion: Trust is a Choice and a Practice

Relearning trust isn’t easy. It takes time, wisdom, and sometimes courage you didn’t think you had. But it’s possible. And it’s worth it. You deserve rich, meaningful relationships built on honesty and respect. Start small. Choose someone who’s earned your trust. Be someone who earns theirs. And from there, life becomes a little fuller, a little warmer, and a whole lot more human.

Introduction: Wrestling with Two Worlds

When I first discovered Stoicism, it was like finding a steady hand to guide me through chaos. Greek philosophy showed me how to build strength through hardship, how to steady my emotions, and how to navigate the messiness of life with grace and control. Years later, when I became a Christian, I found myself asking an unexpected question: Can a Stoic also be a Christian?

That question stayed with me for a long time. It wasn’t just philosophical—it was personal. I’d leaned so heavily on Stoicism during challenging times. Did embracing Christianity mean I had to abandon the tools that had carried me through? What I eventually discovered was a nuanced answer: there’s more harmony than contradiction between the two. In fact, some of the values and lessons from Stoicism still help shape how I live out my faith today.

Shared Ground: Virtue, Discipline, and Meaning

Stoicism and Christianity might come from different eras and cultures, but they share some striking common ground. Both call for a life rooted in virtue—wisdom, courage, self-control, and justice. These aren’t just buzzwords in either system; they’re foundational. Whether it’s the Stoic striving for inner peace through virtue or the Christian pursuing holiness by the fruit of the Spirit, the goal is integrity and ethical living.

Both paths also emphasize the value of discipline. Stoicism calls for mastery of the mind and emotions. Christianity echoes that, reminding believers to be sober-minded, to avoid being ruled by the flesh, and to exhibit self-control. I’ve found practices like journaling, fasting, and voluntary simplicity—used in both traditions—help me become more present, more grounded, and more thoughtful in how I live.

And perhaps most importantly, both Stoicism and Christianity recognize that life isn’t easy. Stoicism says, “Life is hard—be strong.” Christianity says, “Life is hard—but God is with you.” That shared understanding of suffering builds a bridge. Stoicism taught me to endure. Christianity taught me there’s purpose in pain, and I don’t have to face it alone.

The Differences: Emotions, Dependence, and Time

Where the paths begin to part is often in their view of emotions. Stoicism, at its core, emphasizes emotional detachment. It’s about not being ruled by feelings, about achieving a state of calm indifference to whatever life throws your way. In contrast, Christianity embraces emotions—not as rulers, but as real and important parts of being human.

Jesus wept. He rejoiced. He felt compassion and grief. He didn’t suppress His emotions; He expressed them. But what struck me most was that He wasn’t ruled by them. He let emotion inform His actions, not control them. That balance continues to speak deeply to me: feel fully, but don’t be driven by what you feel. That idea bridges the gap.

Another key difference is the focus on self-reliance. Stoicism encourages inner strength and autonomy. Christianity invites surrender and dependence on God. And I’ll admit—this is where I sometimes struggle. When things go wrong, my instinct is to analyze, plan, and fix. I go into Stoic problem-solving mode. But sometimes what’s needed most is prayer, not strategy. I’ve had to relearn what it means to lean on God rather than just myself.

Even the way each views time is distinct. Stoicism sees history as cyclical—life loops through the same patterns again and again. Christianity views time as linear, part of a divine story with a beginning, a purpose, and an end. That perspective changes how I think about hope, progress, and the ultimate meaning of life.

Where It Comes Together: A Life of Quiet Strength

Despite these differences, I’ve found powerful ways these two traditions work together. Stoicism helps me live a measured, intentional life. Christianity fills that life with meaning, love, and grace. One offers tools for navigating daily challenges; the other offers hope for eternity.

When I think of figures like Paul, I see someone who understood both worlds. He debated Stoic philosophers in Athens, and his letters often carried the tone of self-discipline and restraint. Yet he was also deeply emotional, writing about sorrow, joy, and longing. His faith didn’t eliminate his feelings—it gave them context.

Even in modern times, I’ve seen examples of this balance. People like Admiral James Stockdale, who endured years as a prisoner of war, used both Stoic principles and Christian faith to survive. That combination of calm endurance and divine trust is something I continue to admire—and aim to cultivate myself.

What This Means for My Faith Journey

I used to worry that embracing Christian faith meant I had to discard everything I learned from Stoicism. Now I see it differently. I can hold onto the principles that align with my beliefs—virtue, resilience, self-discipline—and let go of what doesn’t fit. I don’t have to live in conflict. I can extract the truth and wisdom where I find it, while remaining rooted in my relationship with God.

Stoicism gave me clarity when I didn’t know who to trust. Christianity gave me love when I didn’t feel worthy of it. Together, they remind me that strength and grace aren’t mutually exclusive. I can strive to live a virtuous life—but not because I’m earning anything. I do it because I’ve already been loved, already been saved, and I want to live out that gift with intention.

Conclusion: Peace with Passion

The question isn’t just “Can a Christian be a Stoic?” It’s “Can I integrate ancient wisdom into a vibrant, personal faith?” And my answer is yes—with discernment. I don’t follow Stoicism as a belief system. But I value its contributions to character, mindset, and ethical clarity. I don’t reject emotion—I recognize it as a gift. And I don’t rely solely on myself—I’m learning, day by day, to lean more into God’s strength.

We’re not robots. We’re not supposed to suppress everything that makes us human. But neither are we meant to be tossed about by every wave of feeling. Faith gives direction. Philosophy can offer tools. And when used wisely, both can lead to a life marked by calm, conviction, and compassion.

In a world that often feels like it celebrates the loudest, fastest, or most dramatic, moderation can seem like a forgotten virtue. From polarizing opinions on social media to extremes in lifestyle choices, we’re surrounded by a culture that pushes us to choose sides, go all in, or stand out at any cost. But is there strength in the middle? Is the quiet power of balance the key to a healthier, happier life? In this post, we’re exploring one storyteller’s life lesson rooted in Greek and Roman philosophy, personal experience, and faith: that “everything in moderation” is not just a cliché, but a life-altering truth.

Learning from Youth: Greek Mythology and the Seeds of Thought

Jill, the storyteller, begins with her childhood fascination with Greek mythology, sparked by watching Clash of the Titans. That fascination soon expanded into an academic love for classical literature and philosophy. Among the philosophical gems she picked up, one stood out: “All things in moderation”, attributed to Cleobulus, one of the seven sages of Greece.

This simple yet profound idea planted a seed. It offered a lens through which Jill started seeing the world—not in black and white, but in shades of balance and nuance.

Extremes All Around Us

As Jill grew up, her philosophical foundation was challenged by real-world experiences. She noticed how people in her life—family, friends, society at large—often lived at the extremes. Her father struggled with alcoholism and overspending. Others around her held rigid, black-and-white worldviews about race, religion, and morality. Even simple things like driving styles or generosity seemed to lack middle ground.

Whether it was the “good group” vs. the “bad group” or the pendulum swinging between indulgence and denial, she saw how much damage the lack of moderation could cause. It wasn’t just about bad habits—it was about how people saw the world and each other.

The Philosophy of the Middle Path

Greek thinkers had a lot to say about balance. Jill highlights how the Greeks viewed virtue as a middle point between two extremes—cowardice vs. recklessness, arrogance vs. insecurity. The idea wasn’t to suppress passion or ambition, but to master it. It’s not that bravery is bad, but unchecked bravery can lead to disaster. And excessive caution can paralyze us from doing good.

Later, Jill connected this with Stoicism, particularly from Roman philosophers like Seneca and Marcus Aurelius. Their teachings on emotional moderation—avoiding being ruled by anger, grief, or pleasure—resonated deeply with her adult experiences. Emotions are natural, but being swept away by them can cloud judgment and harm relationships.

The Role of Moderation in Everyday Life

Jill’s realization didn’t stay in the realm of theory. She looked inward, noticing her own swings between extremes—whether in food habits, exercise, or even relationships. She saw that being “too loving” without boundaries led to being controlled, and being emotionally detached left her disconnected. Her goal became clear: live a life of balance, where joy, discipline, love, and even spirituality could coexist without one overpowering the other.

This wasn’t about being lukewarm or passive. It was about intentional living—choosing to engage with life thoughtfully rather than reactively.

Bringing It Home: What Moderation Means for Us Today

So, how do we apply these ancient teachings in modern life?

• Work-life balance isn’t just corporate jargon. It’s a reflection of living with moderation—earning a living while still living your life.
• Relationships require balance between giving and protecting yourself. Being all-in without discernment can lead to burnout and regret.
• Health thrives in the middle space. Extreme diets or punishing workout routines can do as much harm as inactivity.
• Beliefs and opinions benefit from nuance. Instead of adopting “us vs. them” mindsets, seek understanding and common ground.

In a culture that rewards extremes, choosing moderation might be the most radical act.

Conclusion: Choose the Middle Way

Jill’s journey, from a curious kid watching mythological heroes to an adult embracing stoic wisdom, reminds us that moderation is more than just a polite suggestion—it’s a powerful way to live. It’s not about denying yourself joy or avoiding emotion, but about finding strength in self-awareness and choosing a path that honors your well-being and the people around you.

So here’s the challenge: find one area in your life where you lean too far one way. Is it work? Food? Emotions? Beliefs? Start there. Look for the middle ground—not as compromise, but as wisdom in action.

Moderation isn’t boring. It’s brave. It’s honest. And it just might be what we need most.

Transcript

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Should we live life in extremes or with moderation? That’s what we’re going to talk about today.

Hi, this is Jill from the Northwood. I’m walking through step-by-step lessons I learned—almost just in time. We’re talking about what I learned as a kid, and then we’ll move closer to what I’ve come to understand as an adult.

I saw this movie called Clash of the Titans when I was a kid, and I was sold. I was so into Greek mythology. In fact, my minor in college was classical literature—Greek and Roman literature. I also learned a lot about Mesopotamian history and ancient history in what’s called the “cradle of civilization.”

One of the things I discovered early on was Greek philosophy. As soon as I got past the mythology phase, I was all in for Greek philosophy. Some of the famous concepts stuck with me—like “know thyself,” which encourages self-awareness. But the one that really hit home for me was: all things in moderation. The idea is that everything to excess becomes destructive. This quote came from Cleobulus, one of the Seven Sages of Greece.

He emphasized that extremes can lead to ruin—whether it’s cowardice, recklessness, or even bravery. Greek mythology often portrayed this: characters who were brave but died horrifically due to overconfidence, or those who were too cowardly to help others when needed. That’s when I had my “aha” moment: all things in moderation.

I started looking at the people around me, and nothing seemed moderate. People were either speed demons or driving way too slowly. They were either mean or overly nice. Some were completely lost in alcohol, while others didn’t drink at all.

Looking at my own father’s life, I noticed how much he leaned into extremes—drinking to excess, spending money without control. It was never about finding a middle ground. Ideally, he could have had an occasional drink and been fine, but everything had to be all or nothing. And once alcoholism takes hold, moderation isn’t even an option anymore.

Many family members lived this way. Some saw entire groups of people as either all good or all bad. I remember one relative saying, “I should get the two of you together so that you can each complain about each other.” They were so narrow-sighted, unable to understand the other side. They failed to realize that both sides had good and bad people. That was a real turning point for me.

So many people live in these extremes—overly generous or extremely stingy, wasteful or boastful, overly courageous to the point of stupidity, or too fearful to act. I realized I wanted something else for myself. I wanted to live with moderation instead of arrogance or pride.

Drinking wine in moderation? Okay. Spending money in moderation? Also okay. As long as the big things in life—our relationships, our work, our values—are held in balance.

People often talk about work-life balance. Work is great. So is enjoying time at home. But if those things are out of balance—working too much or avoiding work completely—life starts to crumble. You need to earn a living, yes, but you also need time to rest, connect, and process life.

Moderation, to me, became essential.

Roman philosophy echoes this idea. Think of Seneca or Marcus Aurelius—philosophers who taught about managing emotions, not letting yourself be ruled by anger, grief, or even pleasure. They promoted a kind of emotional steadiness, and that deeply resonated with me.

As I began to understand Greek philosophy, I naturally moved toward Stoicism, which came more from Roman thought. I really liked it. I saw people around me who were emotional wrecks, and others who were emotionally empty. There has to be something in between.

I talked recently about the book Your Erroneous Zones. Part of the lesson there was that we shouldn’t be either too emotional or devoid of emotion. I believe in feeling things—just not letting emotions control my life. Not being overly loving to the point where someone takes over your life, and not being cold or detached either.

Moderation taught me to stay in the middle, to stay grounded, and to work toward balance. The Greeks showed me this. The Stoics reinforced it. And now, as a Christian, I still lean toward stoicism—not in a religious way, but in a way that values character, service, and balance.

I believe we should be good, well-mannered people who help others, pray for them, and care deeply. But I also believe we need to live with balance—not a moderate faith, but a moderate life.

This lesson still matters today. I believe in moderation.

So my challenge to you is this: instead of seeing the world in extremes—us versus them, black or white—try looking for a middle ground. Find one area in your life where you’ve been too extreme. Can you move toward a more moderate, sustainable path?

For me, it’s been food and exercise. I used to eat poorly and never work out. Now I’m trying to enjoy food without overindulging, and exercise regularly without going overboard. I’ve seen people injure themselves from pushing too hard. That middle space—where things are balanced—that’s where I want to live.

Thanks so much for watching this video. If it spoke to you, please leave a comment, subscribe, or share it with a friend. And if you have a topic you’d like me to cover, I’d love to hear it.

Right now, we’re going through a series about life lessons I’ve learned. This one—moderation—I learned back when I was about 11, and it’s stuck with me ever since. It started with Greek philosophy, but it’s shaped every part of my life.

Thanks again, and have a wonderful day.