Epictetus taught that life is a banquet. At the table we are obliged to accept with good grace what’s put before us. But for too long that wasn’t my style. No, I’d take a bite, spit it out, and summon the servant. He’d never be apologetic or servile enough for my taste, he’d never say what I wanted to hear. So I’d shout, gesticulate. Sometimes I’d go so far as to upturn the entire table, and send all the crockery smashing to the floor.
Mine was a wholly infantile philosophy, which I knew I had to someday abandon.
You know what they say. Better late than never.