"Necessity makes even the timid brave." -Sallust
Most fundamentally, necessity precedes action
In Andy Weir’s novel-turned-film The Martian, audiences bear witness to the main character completely defying the odds of surviving alone on Mars by way of feats that plenty would be hard pressed to achieve on earth (building a self-sustaining garden, rationing out meals so as to minimally sustain oneself for an unforeseen period of time, and so on), all while employing a level of science and engineering genius that far surpasses average intelligence. What's significant about this story (beyond its core compelling plot of survival on a not-completely-inhabitable planet), is its depiction of the human spirit—of determined resilience in the face of bleakness. When a certain end result is an absolute and utter necessity, the depth of capability is revealed. The hyperbolic nature of survival scenarios needn't diminish the broader revelation they often serve to illuminate: the undeniable role played by necessity in everything we do.
Similar to the degrees to which we pursue excellence, action, both in specificity and intensity, corresponds to perceived necessity. One need only compare the hobbyist and the professional to see this. The professional guitarist’s livelihood depends on his dedication to practicing, improving, and securing gigs. The hobbyist knows no such pressure; a pursuit fueled by nothing other than his own autotelic interest in honing the craft, nothing overtly critical to his livelihood is risked by him taking a weekend off. What this example demonstrates is why we don't do many of the things we say we'd like to: The stakes are not high enough to impel consistency in the absence of external pressures, and the alternative is often easier and immediately gratifying.
"No longer allow your passions to pull you around like a puppet. Confine your attention to the present time. Learn to recognize what is happening to yourself or another.” -Marcus Aurelius
In matters of consequence, our attention is siphoned toward what's most demanding. We find ourselves both frustrated by the inconvenient thrust of priorities not originally ours, and yet completely ready to engage the resources necessary to respond. Our aim amidst non-autonomous chaos is pointed and consistent action that tames its blow—systems, preventions, and reserves in place that reduce the severity of disruptions. The inevitability of mishaps and chaos needn't mean we live unprepared.
Correspondingly, our eventual regrets often align to the areas that presented the least risk at the time. The care you didn't take when you were healthy, the connections you didn't pursue, the travel you didn't do, the money you didn't save—what's true for these is that when presented with the option to engage, the risk of not doing so was not prevalent. Contentment often belongs to those who can propel themselves into the future with the greatest accuracy, making decisions in the present accordingly. Failure in anticipation is resignation. For this reason, action is our stronghold.
Action is best mobilized when our intent is clear (where we waffle, we wander). As our energy often goes in the direction of the clearest reward, our task in less rigid pursuits is to make the rewards clear there, too. An enhancer for commitment within areas that lack firm external pressures is compounding the inverse question, meaning asking not only, "What if I don't do this?" instead of “What if I do?, but rather, "What if I never did this? (Or went a long time without?)" Confronting these mental realities creates space to assess what we’re willing to neglect.
After establishing a compulsion to generate the action, there's the work of sustaining it—that is, quite simply, doing the thing that we know to be good for us (or those around us) regularly. Roman emperor and philosopher Marcus Aurelius illuminates the antidote to inconsistency when he implores that one "must never act without a definite aim.” Our aim can be as simple as the enrichment derived from the act. When our intention is unclear, our commitment is unsteady. A clearly defined, personally-compelling intent enables consistency of action. We're to then identify the amount sufficient for that intent.
“And here it is essential to remember that the care bestowed on each action should be proportionate to its worth; for then you will not lose heart and give up, if you are not busying yourself with lesser matters to a greater extent than they deserve.” -Marcus Aurelius
Rightness amplified by consistency
In Effortless, author Greg McKeown speaks of how even the right pursuits can be exhausting because of how we’re doing them. There’s the identifying and deciding of the action, and the diligence in determining how to do that thing sustainably. We underestimate the value of getting started, as well as that of determining what can be maintained. This concept is similar to "Zone 2" training, a concept addressed in depth by Peter Attia, and one practiced by ultra endurance athlete Rich Roll among others. In an interview on The Tim Ferriss Show podcast, Rich Roll describes Zone 2 training as a level of output that can consistently be achieved every day. It’s slower than what one is capable of (i.e. intentionally not max output), but can be maintained. "It’s truly the ability to efficiently persist,” Roll describes in the episode. “The prize doesn’t go to the fastest guy, it goes to the guy who slows down the least.”
Results belong to the individual who slows down the least. Embedded in the physical practice of ultra endurance training is the Stoic virtue of temperance, or moderation—the paradox within it being that one can do too much of what is obviously good, too. The most concise description of temperance is offered by Daily Stoic: "Doing the right thing in the right amount in the right way.” The rightness of the thing (act) is defined by one’s larger intent; the amount, by what serves that intent; the way, by what serves the intent in the agreed-upon amount.
Anything worth doing is worth making it easy for ourselves to keep doing.
Expectation amidst circumstance and chaos
As expressed by Epictetus, philosophy’s chief task is to illuminate unsound beliefs. It’s to expose where our consciously or unconsciously-held assumptions may be undermining the quality of experience we seek. Chaotic as the world around us may be, our brains seek order, particularly in the way of linear results per the standards we've determined sensible. What's often missing from our best-laid plans is precisely the consideration of chaos, the confluence of environmental and human factors wholly separate from us that influence anything at any given time. In a chaotic world indebted to no one, action is our anchor and armor—the former in agency, the latter in preparation.
In Sharon Lebell’s interpretation of Epictetus’ works The Art of Living, we find the following encouragement: "Pursue the good ardently. But if your efforts fall short, accept the result and move on." Act, learn, adjust, repeat.
What we’re to combat in the wake of disappointment despite best efforts is the notion that the outcome renders the actions insignificant. Much of what we seek requires both effort and circumstance; Stoic resolve both aids and results from a focus on the former. Occurrences of goal-circumstance misalignment shouldn't damper our commitment to intentional, targeted action, but amplify it, reminding us that consistency makes its coinciding with the right circumstances likely, too. "The harmful consequences of inactivity are dissipated by activity," philosopher and playwright Seneca says. Outcomes being equal, action sharpens us along the way, illuminating where to improve, what to eliminate, and so on. Effort does not entitle us to specific results; consistency, however, improves our aim. Action is our strength whatever the results may be.
At the root of Stoicism is a quality that, in a time where the popular narrative is that it’s everyone else’s fault, rings powerfully: agency. If time is the great equalizer, action is the great separator. Beyond position, placement, and any other factors of randomness, action, sustained through disciplined exertion and clear intent, is what separates the directed from the wandering. It is the indicator of an aligned life.
“You must fashion your life one action at a time, and if each attains its own end as far as it can, be satisfied with that; and that it should attain its end is something in which no other person can hinder you. ‘But some obstacle from outside may stand in my way.’ None at least that can prevent you from acting justly, temperately, and with prudence.” -Marcus Aurelius