Every week brings a new crisis that demands our attention — yet none of it feels remotely within our control. So what do we do?
Socially conscious people tend to split into two camps. Some double down on agency — strategize harder, organize more, try to manufacture solutions through relentless action. Others eventually check out entirely, letting their engagement drift because it all feels futile anyway.
Lately I find myself straddling both.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been impact-obsessed. Creating, working, reflecting — all powered by a belief that if I just think hard enough, plan well enough, execute perfectly enough, I’d make the world materially better.
But as I dig into where this obsession comes from, I keep bumping into another version of the story. One that’s less about control and more about letting go. Less about creating and more about listening. One that acknowledges the sheer scale and complexity of the world and finds freedom in that — solace, even.
I’m learning what it looks like to loosen my grip on the steering wheel. To trust that things are unfolding as they’re meant to. That even in this dark hour, there’s some greater intelligence — call it God, the Universe, Nature, Life — running the show, and my job isn’t to engineer outcomes. It’s to look for my next right action and let go of the rest.
The Stoics had a metaphor for this tension that’s been resonating lately.
A dog tied to a moving cart.
The cart’s moving whether the dog likes it or not. It turns left, right, stops, speeds up. The dog can trot alongside or dig its heels in and get dragged. Either way, the cart keeps rolling.
The choice isn’t whether you move. It’s how.
“Fate guides the willing, drags the unwilling.”
Here’s what I’m coming to accept: I’ve never been in control. Especially of the big issues I worry about. Wars start, economies collapse, politics disappoints — all beyond what any individual can dictate. The cart’s been moving this whole time, and it’s not stopping.
But in that lack of control? There’s still a choice. Resist or flow. Trot or get dragged.
There’s freedom in knowing no single one of us is the sole architect of what comes next. We’re contributors, stewards, participants in a much longer story that’s far bigger than us.
So we act. We better ourselves. We fight for what matters. But we release the illusion that it all hinges on us alone.
My work right now is learning to believe that showing up every day — staying open, looking for the next right move, doing my part — is enough. That I don’t have to carry it all. That the cart’s already moving, and I can choose to trot alongside it.
If not us, who?
j