Monday Motivation: Every Thing Has Two Handles

Epictetus, in an engraving from about 1700. No portrait of him from life survives, so every picture of him is an artist's best guess. (Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.)

Epictetus knew something about carrying heavy things. He was born a slave in Rome about 2,000 years ago. His master crippled his leg — the story goes it was broken deliberately, and he bore it without crying out. He was freed eventually, and became a teacher, and the notes his student took down still get read today. So when this man talks about how to carry the hard parts of life, he's not guessing.

Here's the picture he gives, from his handbook (the classic translation):

"Everything has two handles, the one by which it may be carried, the other by which it cannot. If your brother acts unjustly, don't lay hold of it by that handle — that he acted unjustly — for by that it cannot be carried. Lay hold of it by the other: that he is your brother, that you were brought up together. And then you will hold it by the handle by which it can be carried."

Sit with how practical that is. Epictetus doesn't tell you to pretend your brother did right. The injustice is real, and he says so. He just points out that if you pick the situation up by the offense, it won't carry. You'll cut your hand on it every time you try to move it. But pick it up by the other handle — this is my brother, we've got history, there's a relationship here bigger than this one act — and the thing can actually be carried somewhere.

Every hard thing that lands on your desk, or your doorstep, or your phone this week comes with the same two handles.

The coworker who dropped the ball: you can carry it by "they failed me," or by "now I know where this project needs a second set of eyes."

The family slight that's still stinging: you can carry it by the words they said, or by the years that say this isn't the whole story of them.

The bad news — the diagnosis, the denial letter, the plan that fell through: you can carry it by "this isn't fair," and it's not, or by "what's the next faithful step from right here."

Notice what's not happening in any of that. The facts don't change. Your brother still did what he did. The letter still says no. Perspective isn't pretending. It's choosing which part of the truth you'll carry the weight by — because the weight gets carried either way, by you, and some handles are made to be held and some are made to cut.

So here's the Monday challenge, and it's a small one: name one heavy thing you're carrying right now. Just one. Then ask it Epictetus's question — what's the other handle? You may not find it in the first minute. That's fine. Looking for it is half the discipline.

Carry it by the handle that carries.