Control The Illusion We Cannot Let Go
We like to think we are in control. We plan, save, and arrange our lives with careful precision, as if certainty could be measured, as if life could follow a script. We tell ourselves that with enough effort, things will stay on course. Yet, the truth slips through our fingers time and again: life does not work that way. It is as if we are writing in pencil, eraser ready, and fate has a hand that is never still.
A friend of mine called recently, her voice tight with frustration. She was grappling with a sudden illness, a relentless infection that had hit her face out of nowhere. The shock of it left her bewildered.
“I do not understand,” she said, trying to find reason in it. “I have worked so hard to get to a good place.”
“Do you want sympathy,” I asked, “or do you want the truth?”
“Give me the truth.”
I took a breath. “You cannot work your way into a life where nothing happens. Life will always happen, no matter what. All you can do is respond—and keep moving.”
She was quiet for a moment, then sighed, resigned. “Right.”
So often, we imagine that our inner work—the therapy, the self-reflection, the healing journeys—might create a kind of shield. If we are wise enough, self-aware enough, maybe, just maybe, we can insulate ourselves from life’s harder edges. It is as if we are collecting invisible armor, layering ourselves in learned resilience to outwit life’s unpredictability.
I once thought the same. I believed that with enough insight, with the right spiritual tools, I would find myself beyond life’s reach, that I could mold my life into a predictable shape. But control, as I learned, is a fickle thing. It works until it does not until life decides it has a lesson of its own to teach. And there I was, back in a place I thought I had risen above, facing the truth that I was never really in control at all.
For a long time, I thought the answer was to be “better”—more healed, more aware, more ready. I thought if I worked hard enough, I would become someone who could stay untouched by life’s blows. But the idea of control was only a symptom of the same pattern: the belief that we must earn our worth, prove we are deserving of peace, of happiness, of an orderly life. It was an illusion, a comforting distraction.
When I finally let go of control, it was not giving up. It was realizing I did not need control to be okay. Life would continue, imperfect as ever. My task was not to master it but to be present in it, to allow it to be what it was without the constant need to perfect every corner.
Imagine a world without surprises, a life without twists. It sounds safe. But it is also stagnant, void of any spark, any unexpected grace. Our struggles, our joys—they are woven in ways we do not always understand, unfolding in patterns that are only clear when we look back.
When we let go of control, we find that life’s choreography takes its own shape. Plans change, our paths shift, and yet, life moves forward. To live fully is to step into this mystery with arms wide open, to embrace the unpredictable, to trust that no matter what, we will find our way.
It is not about perfection or predictability. It is about learning to ride the wave, to be present as life meets us moment by moment, messy, beautiful, and gloriously out of our hands.
