You’ve felt it: that moment when all your careful planning, your best efforts, your strongest intentions crash head-on into forces beyond your reach.
A phone call that changes everything...
A diagnosis that reframes your future...
A pandemic that stops the world...
Like a stone dropping into still water, everything ripples outward, far beyond what you can control.
In those moments, the illusion of control doesn’t just crack — it shatters.
Still, we spend much of our lives under its spell — convinced we can bend circumstances to our will, dictate success of our choosing, or secure the relationships we desire, if only we believe enough and try hard enough. The self-help industry has built an empire on this fantasy.
Yet the deeper I live with this inquiry, the clearer it becomes: the circle of control is far smaller than we imagine.
In my first essay, Before the Learning, the Undoing, I wrote about three unlearned truths that emerged from a grave health crisis: I am not my identity; growth lies in subtraction, not accumulation; and — most unsettling of all — control is an illusion.
This essay expands on that third unlearning.
The Illusion of Control
Let’s look at where the illusion of control appears and reappears in our lives, creating that familiar cycle of hope dashed into disappointment, with the inevitable frustration, anger, and helplessness that follows.
Our careers?
We imagine we can chart a straight line from ambition to achievement. We study hard, work diligently, plan carefully, give our best — yet economies change, markets shift, bosses change, companies fold. The promotion you deserved goes to someone else because of office politics you never saw coming.
Our relationships?
We try to manage how others see us, feel about us, or respond to us. We listen, we give, we compromise, we try to show up with care — yet no one can script the beating of another’s heart. Who hasn’t felt the ache of unrequited love, discovering that no amount of effort, desire, or sheer will can make someone return our feelings?
Our health?
We eat well, exercise, avoid toxins, get adequate rest — and still genetics strike, accidents happen, or viruses arrive uninvited. The runner who collapses at mile 20 despite perfect training.
Our emotions?
We meditate, we journal, we practice gratitude. We try to will ourselves into happiness or calm — but moods rise and fall like weather systems, often triggered by a song, a memory, or simply how we slept.
Even our reputations, successes, and sense of safety all hang on contingencies beyond our grasp: timing, chance, the choices of others, a single viral moment that reframes our entire story.
The harder we look, the more obvious it becomes: almost everything we assume is under our control is, in fact, subject to forces we cannot even begin to understand fully, let alone govern.
And yet, the self-help industry insists otherwise. It tells us we can — and should — control everything: our destiny, our success, even reality itself.
“Think and Grow Rich.”
“You Create Your Own Reality.”
“Be the CEO of Your Life.”
"Manifest Your Wildest Dreams."
When those slogans falter against reality, the prescription is always the same: believe harder.
Didn’t get the job? Believe harder.
Business failed? You weren’t committed enough.
Still struggling? Your mindset needs work.
Dejected and depressed? Your attitude needs fixing.
It’s a perfect trap that I've written about before¹ — psychologically addictive but factually bankrupt. Instead of examining what actually went wrong (skills, timing, strategy, genuine constraints), the narrative pins failure on our insufficient belief. The illusion is doubled down on, the burden shifts back to us, and a vicious loop begins — spiraling into frustration, and at times, despair.
But reality doesn’t negotiate. She plays by her own rules — the rules of physics, of biology, of economics, the agency of other people — and no amount of affirmations or vision boards can seduce her, bending those rules to our will.
Randomness Rules
Step outside the slogans and look honestly at life, and randomness shows its hand everywhere.
A driver checks their phone for one second — and an accident changes everything.
A virus crosses oceans — and the world grinds to a halt.
A promising company thrives for years — until a competitor’s surprise launch collapses it overnight.
Months of preparation build toward a goal — until a sudden storm sweeps it all away.
At times, a single accident — like a stone breaking water — sends waves through everything we thought was stable. A virus, a storm, a competitor’s surprise product launch. One moment changes the whole surface of life, rippling far past our reach.
Sometimes these shocks are what Nassim Nicholas Taleb calls Black Swan events² — rare, unpredictable, and world-shaking. A market crash, a natural disaster, a pandemic. We can’t plan for them, we can’t predict them, and we certainly can’t control them.
And sometimes the randomness is intimate. We cannot choose whether these shocks arrive — but we can choose how we meet them. For me, it was a cardiac event. One moment I was at my desk, the next on my way to the ER, unsure if I’d see another day. I could not control my heartbeat, my survival, or even whether my family would be okay without me. All the structures I thought I controlled — career, success, momentum — dissolved in an instant. I was left with the strange, astonishing peace I felt in the ER, the words I chose to speak to the physician, the clarity with which I faced the unknown. These were mine.
What remained was a visceral clarity: the realization that control is never mine to begin with.
The Locus of Real Control
We burn hours in envy of influencers and others’ advertised successes, in bickering and backbiting, in gossip that changes nothing, in needless worry about what people think or how events will unfold — and in endless posts to social media, seeking validation that never truly satisfies.
All of it noise. All of it fruitless.
And none of it lies within our real locus of control — not the envy that clouds the mind, not the gossip that slips through our words, not the restless craving for validation. Every moment we spend there is energy stolen from the only domains that are actually ours.
This, then, raises the essential question: if control is never with us there, what, if anything, can we actually control?
I wrestled with this question for months, turning it over during morning walks, in quiet moments, in the liminal space between sleep and waking. And then one morning, as I was finishing my meditation, clarity surfaced like a stone breaking water — an epiphany, a mindspark³. There are only three things we truly control:
- Domain One:
What we put in our mouths — what we choose to eat or drink, the fuel or the poison we allow into our bodies. A salad or a shot of whiskey. A glass of water or a can of soda. These choices seem small, but over time they shape our health, our energy, even our moods. - Domain Two:
What comes out of our mouths — the words we speak, the truths or lies we utter, the kindness or cruelty we release into the world. A sharp remark can wound for years. A word of encouragement can change the course of someone’s day, perhaps even their life. Speech is the bridge between our inner and outer worlds, and it is always ours to govern. - Domain Three:
What we allow to go on in our heads — the thoughts we attend to, the stories we feed, the mental climate we cultivate. We can’t stop every thought from arising — they come uninvited, like weather fronts. The mind lurches like a drunken monkey, from one thought to the next. But we can choose which ones to dwell on, which narratives to reinforce, and which to let drift past without buying into them.
That’s it. Not careers, not relationships, not health outcomes, not success. Only these three.
These domains may sound abstract, but they’re not. Together they form the foundation of every action we take. What we put into our bodies fuels our capacity to act. What we say shapes how our actions are received. What we allow in our minds directs the intention behind them, and the actions they initiate. In this sense, body, speech, and mind aren’t separate from action — they are its instruments.
And therein lies the paradox: the smaller the circle of control becomes, the clearer its vast implications. Because within these three domains lies the whole texture of our life. We can nourish or poison our bodies. We can speak truth or lies, kindness or cruelty. We can cultivate clarity or confusion, peace or agitation.
But What About Planning?
At this point, some may object: What about planning, goal-setting, working toward outcomes? Surely those are under our control?
The answer is both yes and no.
Planning is an act of the mind — domain three. Goals take shape in our thoughts, and we give them form through our words and actions — domain two. And the energy to pursue those plans comes from how we nourish ourselves — domain one. Even our grandest projects still operate through the same three domains.
What we do not control is the outcome.
You can prepare flawlessly for a presentation and still have the projector fail. You can train diligently for a marathon and twist an ankle the night before. You can launch a brilliant product and still watch the market shift beneath your feet.
When we focus on the inputs — our clarity of mind, our integrity of speech, the care we take with our bodies — the outcomes often improve. But they never become ours to command.
When we focus on the inputs — our clarity of mind, our integrity of speech, the care we take with our bodies — the outcomes often improve. But they never become ours to command. This is the web of illusion: subtle, seductive, and always waiting to ensnare us. A trap to watch for, and one never to fall into.
The Paradox of Real Power
At first, the circle of control looks small — almost depressingly so. Just three? Just a single drop in a vast lake. What we eat, what we say, what we think? It can feel reductive, even claustrophobic, compared to the grand promises of self-help gurus and their blithe and, far too often, empty slogans.
But here’s the paradox: the smaller the circle, the greater the power.
A single drop sends ripples outward. Focus your energy at the center — the quality of your inputs — and influence naturally flows. You can’t command the ripples, but you can choose the drop.
Energy follows attention. When we stop wasting energy on outcomes we can never command — the behavior of our boss, the trajectory of our career, the success of our business, the reactions of our spouse — all that energy is freed. And where can it be directed for maximum impact? Into the only domains that are truly ours.
Focus there, and life inevitably changes:
Nourish the body instead of poisoning it, and energy follows.
Speak with honesty and kindness, and relationships shift.
Cultivate clarity of mind instead of confusion, and peace becomes less fragile.
None of these guarantee specific outcomes. They never will. But together, they shape the envelope of our experience — the quality of our presence in the world. They shape how we show up, regardless of what comes back. Influence flows outward from the quality of our actions, but we cannot command its effects. And that is the paradox: by accepting how little we control, we begin to discover how much influence we actually have.
True mastery has always looked this way. A samurai master does not control her opponent; she meets each strike with clarity, discipline, and flow, directing her energy with precision. A martial artist does not control the fight; she channels her training into movement, dancing with what comes. A musician does not control the music; she focuses her attention, and her energy follows — improvisation carries her forward. In the same way, we cannot command outcomes. What we can do is direct our full presence — body, speech, and mind — toward the moment at hand. The rest unfolds as it will.
The Ancient Echo
This realization isn’t entirely new. The ancients saw it clearly, each in their own way.
The Stoics drew the sharpest line: some things are within our power, others are not. “You have power over your mind — not outside events,” Marcus Aurelius wrote, returning to this truth again and again.
Buddhism offered its own compass. Right Speech is one of the Noble Eightfold Path’s central practices: to speak truthfully, kindly, and with purpose. The Buddha knew words are seeds — they can sow suffering or peace, depending on how they’re cast.
Vedanta went deeper still. Body, speech, and mind are the three instruments of action — the only tools we ever truly possess. The outcomes of those actions, the fruits, do not belong to us. They belong to forces larger, vaster, beyond the control of most of us.
Across traditions, the pattern repeats: what we can control is small — and sufficient.
The Circle Completes
All of this comes full circle in one of the greatest classics of Indian — and arguably world — spiritual literature⁴. Its core teaching can be summed up like this:
You have the right to your actions, but never to their results.
Let not the results be your motive, and do not fall into inaction.
This is the essence of the third unlearning.
The three domains — what we put in our mouths, what comes out of our mouths, and what we allow to go on in our heads — are the circle of action that is truly ours. Everything else belongs to the results, the outcomes — forever beyond our control.
This wisdom is often misunderstood as resignation. In truth, it is the path to both effectiveness and peace. When we stop pouring energy into anxiously managing outcomes, we free that energy to focus entirely on the quality of our actions. Nourishing the body, speaking with integrity, cultivating clarity and purity of mind — these are not small acts. They are the whole substance of action.
My cardiac event was a visceral lesson in this principle. I could not control whether my heart would keep beating, whether my story would end that day, or how my family’s future might unfold. But one thing remained within reach: my response. The strange, astonishing peace I felt in the ER, the words I chose to speak to the physician, the clarity with which I faced the unknown — these were mine.
And so the circle closes: ancient wisdom and lived experience affirming the same truth. Our control is the drop, never the ripple.
Action is ours. The results are not. They never were.
As the philosopher Sting reminds us, “If you love someone, set them free.” He was singing about love, but the insight holds far wider: we are not here to possess outcomes, only to act with clarity, kindness, and courage — and let the rest go.
Your Turn
If this unlearning resonates, try sitting with a few questions of your own:
- Where in our lives do we strain to control fruits — outcomes, results, responses — that are not actually ours to command?
- How do we nourish our bodies? Are our daily choices fueling clarity and strength, or draining them?
- What is the quality of our speech lately — reactive, careless, or deliberate and kind?
- Which thoughts or stories in our heads do we feed? Which ones could we simply notice and let pass without buying in?
- When we plan or set goals, do we focus on the quality of our actions (the inputs), or are we fixated on outcomes (the fruits)?
These are not riddles to solve but companions for inquiry. Notice them. Journal with them. Carry them into your day.
The invitation is simple: focus fiercely on what is yours to control — your body, your speech, your mind. And then, as the ancients of India told us long ago, release the rest. As I learned the hard way in the ER.
Where do you notice yourself grasping for control, and where have you found peace in letting go? If you’re willing, please share your reflections—publicly in the comments or privately at undoing_raaj (at) proton (dot) me.
I'd love to hear from you!
Footnotes:
¹ My previous essay, Unlearning the Belief Myth: Why Mindset Matters — But It Ain’t Magic dissects the lure of the belief myth and its hidden cost.
² From Nassim Nicholas Taleb’s The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable (2007), which popularized the metaphor of rare, unpredictable events with massive consequences.
³ I wrote about what I call Mindsparks, the occurrence of spontaneous cognition, in my essay Mindsparks — The Phenomenology and Wonder of Sudden Insight
⁴ From the Bhagavad Gītā, two and a half millennia ago, on the battlefield of the Mahābhārata, these immortal words were spoken:
Karmanye vadhikaraste ma phaleshu kadachana;
Ma karmaphalahetur bhur ma te sango’stvakarmani
“You have a right to action alone, never to its fruits. Let not the fruits of action be your motive, nor let your attachment be to inaction.”
The Gītā’s wisdom is not resignation. It is not passivity. It is the paradox of real power.
Quiet thanks to Linus Nylund on Unsplash for the photograph.
