Stirring Point

The urge is there when things don’t go our way. We throttle our expectations with a white-knuckle grip and try to bend reality to fit our desired outcomes. We pull levers and push buttons to reign in the chaos. We’ve lost control of a situation and we’re unsure of how to get it back.

Our need for control is bound to our desire to see our expectations satisfied. We build models in our minds for how things ought to go (based on past experiences) and let these patterns erect themselves into archetypes. We form a logic around these models and expect our notions of sanity to apply to everything within them. We account for small deviations, knowing the world’s imperfect, but when the anomalies reach a certain size, they test our understanding. Our feelings of control begin to slip, and to keep our logic intact, we fight like hell to maintain what’s left of our grip.

It’s natural to try and bring order to the chaos, so we pack the world into a framework our minds can understand. As our intellect grows, so does our ability to manipulate information to fit our models of thinking. We exploit statistics to support our perspectives and rearrange data to bolster our arguments. We wrestle with sideways outcomes, doing everything we can to soothe our confusion. But a fluid world is indifferent to these outcomes and we’re often left sifting sand for explanations. When the explanations don’t arrive or they feel insufficient, we reach for handles that are nowhere to be found.

To be clear, there are elements of control we should never cede. For example, the right to protect our bodies from the harmful reach of others should be undisputed. The question is, when do we look at a moment and recognize that control is of less importance than the idea of acceptance? When does the fight become futile?

Think of a circumstance that caused you hours or days of consternation. Imagine a past battle you knew you were unable to win, yet your mind was incapable of letting it go. When did the wave or anxiety finally subside? What medicine made the wound close? Often, the best balm is time and perspective. And like the Kübler-Ross model (the five stages of grief) suggests, it culminates with the feelings of acceptance. But not every lapse of control requires the drive through these stages. 

I’d argue there’s more strength than weakness in learning to accept uncontrollable outcomes. When we reach this threshold, we’re left with no choice in the matter, yet we rage against acceptance as if there’s merit in our struggle. Are we displaying resolve? Are we champions in the fight? Or, are we delusional actors battling to protect our egos? If we possess the ability to change an outcome for the better, then the circumstances are still somewhat controllable. It’s when they’ve moved beyond this stage—when there is no other choice—that acceptance becomes a right state. 

How we reach acceptance is up to the mind in question, but it’s important we get there. Fruitless battles, while seemingly noble, cost us vast resources that can be applied elsewhere. Again, I’m not suggesting we give our necks to predators or act conciliatory when we can change our circumstances. It’s when we can’t—when there’s nothing left to rage against—that we see the moment for what it is and learn to accept it with as much grace as we can muster.