Men and women of the 21st century, you who so swiftly move your fingers over luminous screens, allow me to speak to you of a virtue that, two millennia ago, we called temperance and you now call self-control.

The word has changed, but the essence remains, like wine that, even in a new container, retains the same aroma and power.

Temperance or self-control is the compass of the soul. It not only curbs hunger or lust, it moderates all desires and generates freedom.

Today, you are filled with stimuli, and in this storm, self-control is highly valued in others, but you rarely cultivate it in yourselves.

Do not confuse temperance with weakness or passivity. It is not about stifling desires, but about understanding them, taming them, and placing them at the service of reason. The self-controlled man is master of himself, even surrounded by temptations. He looks at the lavish table and chooses what is necessary. He receives an insult and chooses silence. He acknowledges a desire, but does not kneel before it.

You are daily warriors. You fight distractions, gluttony, anger, envy, but you will only find peace in the stillness of temperance, self-control, or moderation.

Practice this art of governing yourself, of saying "enough" when everything around you screams "more."

In mastering the small lies the strength to face the great.

Observe your world. You are surrounded by excess.

The mind drives the chariot of will, and desires are its horses, strong, impetuous, but without guidance, they drag you into chaos.

Listen, men and women of the twenty-first century, you who carry powerful machines in your hands and chests, hearts racing.

You have built bridges between continents, discovered invisible worlds, multiplied images and voices in real time, but you have forgotten the most fundamental of instruments: reason.

Reason is not cold. It is not distant. It is quiet warmth, firm discernment, the lamp that guides amidst the fog.

I see you divided, restless, confused. You want everything, at the same time, but you don't know why you sigh. You live between inflamed desires and diffuse fears.

Because you have distanced yourself from reason, that divine faculty that distinguishes the human from the irrational.

I am not speaking of technical intelligence. That is in abundance. I am speaking of right judgment, the ability to ask: Is this good? Just? Does it serve virtue or merely the ego?

Reason exists to free you. But we must learn to use it, not as an instrument of vanity, but as a silent master.

Today, many confuse feeling with knowing. They say, "I feel it's true," but what you feel may be a reflection of your passions. Reason, in turn, calmly questions, ponders, observes, and firmly chooses.

Reason distinguishes humans. It is firm and guided by logic, nature, and virtue. Reason refuses revenge after an offense. It accepts death, acts courageously, remains calm in the face of criticism, and chooses to lose money rather than betray principles.

Passion, on the other hand, is guided by uncontrolled impulses: fear, desire, anger, and sadness. It causes suffering because it arises from the illusion of control over what does not depend on us.

He listens attentively, not in a hurry.

Let's talk about anguish, that invisible weight that weighs down the shoulders of those who run without knowing where.

Anguish is not physical pain, nor is it defined sadness. It is the knot that forms between the desire to control the world and the impotence in the face of it. It is the emptiness that grows when we distance ourselves from reason and allow the noise of the world to take the place of consciousness.

Anguish is not new. The Romans felt it. The Greeks sighed for it. But your time has made it a habit, a silent, constant routine, disguised as normality.

Men and women wake up anxious. Before they even get up, they are already exposed to comparisons.

Social media offers edited lives. Everyone seems happy, successful, unshakable. And you? You look at yourself, miss something, and don't know what.

This anguish arises when you believe you need to be like everyone else. You forget that every path is unique and that virtue isn't measured by virtual likes or applause.

Young people are afraid of failure. Of not finding work. Of not pleasing their parents. Of not knowing what they want.

The fear of uncertainty is ancient, and the antidote is simple. Cultivate a clear distinction between what depends on you and what doesn't. This is the axis of inner freedom.

Anxiety also disguises itself as excess. There are those who have everything—comfort, technology, distractions—but feel an emptiness that can't be filled.

Why? Because they consume without purpose. They run aimlessly. They constantly try to escape silence, when it is in silence that the soul finds rest.

There are exhausted parents, overwhelmed workers, paralyzed students. Everyone wants to handle everything. But you weren't made to embrace the world. You were made to choose wisely what deserves your effort.

When you try to control the uncertain, you demand from the universe what it never promised. And this generates anguish.

Listen. The only freedom lies in caring for what depends on you: your choices, perspectives, and way of interpreting events.

The noise exists, the pressures continue, but you can build a temple within yourself where no anxiety is welcome.

Stop!

Breathe!

Hear these words, as if spoken to your soul and not just to your ears.

I am Epictetus, son of reason and servant of inner freedom. Many think I have been left in the dust of history. But no! True philosophy never dies. It waits, silently, for the heart that longs to blossom.

Today, I come to speak about the most liberating truth I have ever known: the distinction between what depends on us and what does not.

In a world where every gesture is commented on, every choice is compared, every life is exposed, you have forgotten that there are things that belong to you and others that never belonged to you.

Your body does not depend entirely on you. Health can improve with care, but it is vulnerable. Your reputation is in the hands of others. Time passes without your consent.

There is something no one can take from you: your ability to judge, to choose, to interpret wisely.

That is yours. Yours alone. When we understand this dichotomy, we stop fighting the wind and start building sails. We stop blaming, fearing, and fussing in vain.

I see many people living in the hope of approval, as if that determined their worth.

The content you publish, the intention with which you speak, the virtue with which you express yourself, depends on you. But how many like, share, or comment doesn't depend on you. Your freedom lies in publishing what is fair, not in relying on the reaction. If guided by applause, you will be a slave to those who don't even know you.

When the soul is anchored in what is yours, not even the greatest storms can drag it away.

There are those who live anxiously at work, afraid of being dismissed, of not being enough. Commitment, study, ethics, and discipline depend on you. But they don't depend on the company's decisions, the market, or the whims of others.

Do your best and deliver the rest with serenity.

What is beyond your control doesn't deserve despair. No storm destabilizes those who put down roots only where they have control.

Someone leaves. Someone criticizes you or doesn't respond. It's up to you to love fairly, speak sincerely, respect firmly. It's not up to the other person to live, to change their behavior, to see what you see.

I am Epictetus resurrected!

Not to surprise the gods, but to remind mankind that their freedom has not been lost, merely forgotten.

I was a slave, I was a master, and I remained silent for two thousand years, but today I return to reinforce the idea that nothing outside of you should disturb you.

Reason, virtue, and self-control are weapons that never grow old.

In times of excess, disorientation, and anxiety, my message remains intact.

I have returned, not as a relic, but as a mirror.

Look at you. Is what you seek still within you?

Two thousand years have passed.

The clay of empires has turned to dust. Philosophers have slept, and mankind has sought new things, forgetting principles.

But behold, I am resurrected. Not by a miracle, but because time begged for a voice to speak again to all humanity.

Your world amazes me.

You have machines that fly, networks that connect distant minds, boxes that talk, and yet hearts are more agitated than in the age of togas and porticos.