The Periodic Digests are my way of synthesizing the noise of current events into a coherent signal. Rather than reacting to every headline, these curated summaries capture the most critical developments in philosophy, geopolitics, and culture over a set period.
They serve as both a time capsule and a tool for reflection—allowing me (and you) to look back and see the trajectory of ideas and events without the distractions of the daily news cycle.
“Some things are up to us, and some are not.” — Epictetus, Enchiridion
I’ve been following the campaign around Crimea closely these past few weeks, and something about the shape of it has stuck with me — not the politics of it, which I’ll leave to people better qualified than a Stoicism newsletter, but the strategy.
For a long time, the instinct — mine included — was to imagine this kind of war ending the way wars end in movies: one decisive battle, a line on a map that moves all at once, a single dramatic turn. That’s not what’s happening. What’s happening, by most independent accounts, is slower and less cinematic than that. Ukraine appears to have shifted its approach around Crimea from scattered strikes to something more sustained and methodical — degrading fuel depots, air defense, bridges, and rail lines, and increasingly, ships. Reporting from the Crimea Platform and United24 put the numbers in the range of ninety to over a hundred Russian vessels struck in single-week windows in early-to-mid July, Kerch Strait ferry capacity down as much as 75%, and passage through the Don-Azov Canal temporarily suspended. Officials in the Ukrainian defense establishment reportedly describe the goal plainly: make Crimea an island. Not take it back in an afternoon. Isolate it, patiently, until what’s left is unsustainable.
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“Let each thing you do, say, or intend be the act of one who might depart from life this very moment.” — Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 2.11
Memorial Day is a strange holiday.
We grill. We shop. We go to the lake. We treat it like summer’s opening ceremony. And somewhere in the background — a parade, a flag, a moment of silence — we remember that the whole thing exists because people died.
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Subject: The Pause
“You have power over your mind—not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.” — Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.68 There’s a moment between stimulus and response where everything lives.
Someone cuts you off in traffic. Your chest tightens, your foot tenses toward the brake, your jaw clenches. That’s the stimulus. What happens next is up to you.
Most people don’t know the pause exists. They move straight from event to reaction—anger to horn, frustration to sharp word, anxiety to scroll. They’re not choosing; they’re being pulled.
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🪞 A Reflection The clearest high point of 2025 was finally giving my writing the honesty it had been waiting for. I stopped circling the truth and began trusting it. Pages that had stalled for years moved once I allowed myself to write without self-protection or apology. Writing became less about producing and more about listening—staying present long enough for the right sentences to surface. Much of that work is finding its way into Misaligned, a book I plan to publish on June 10, 2026, shaped by questions I’ve carried for decades. The year didn’t resolve my story, but it helped me tell it more truthfully.
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🪞 A Reflection “Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.” — Abraham Lincoln
Power has always been the ultimate mirror. It reflects what we are when nobody can stop us. Titles and elections make it look formal, but the real test happens in smaller, quieter places—at a desk, in a meeting, in how we handle the people who can’t fight back. That’s where character either deepens or curdles.
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🪞 A Reflection “Science is more than a body of knowledge; it’s a way of thinking, a way of skeptically interrogating the universe with a fine understanding of human fallibility.” — Carl Sagan, The Demon-Haunted World
REFLECTION — THE CANDLE AND THE MIRROR Carl Sagan never treated science as an escape from the world. He saw it as an act of service — a disciplined way to honor the fragile miracle of being here at all. When he called Earth a pale blue dot, he wasn’t indulging in cosmic poetry; he was issuing a moral reminder. Knowledge carries responsibility. Understanding obliges care.
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