You Were Never In Control
What boogie boards, plane crashes, and Instagram filters reveal about the anxiety we’re all drowning in
The other day, Connor and I were in the ocean off Waikiki. Just the two of us. He had a snorkel vest and boogie board, and I was holding him as we caught waves together.
At first we stayed where I could touch the bottom. But eventually we drifted past that point, out where the waves got big and I couldn’t reach the ground anymore. I wasn’t in control. Not really. I couldn’t stop the waves, couldn’t fully steer us. All I could do was hold on, keep my head above water, and make sure Connor was safe.
And Connor had the time of his life.
He laughed. He screamed in joy. He rode those waves with complete abandon — because he knew I had him.
He felt safe. Completely safe. Even though we weren’t in control at all.
And that moment hit me harder than the ocean ever could:
That’s life.
That’s everything.
Why We Equate Control with Safety
Humans are hardwired to prioritize safety. Without it, our bodies go into fight, flight, freeze, or fawn — the biological stress response designed to help us survive lions, cliffs, and wars. But somewhere along the line, we started confusing safety with control.
Modern life didn’t just sell us safety — it sold us certainty, and we bought it wholesale.
Real safety — like Connor had on that boogie board — is about trust. Surrender. Knowing someone’s got you. But in modern life, we swapped that out for something we think we can rely on: predictability. Control.
We don’t just want to feel safe — we want guarantees. Outcomes. A narrative where everything goes according to plan.
If we feel in control — of the plan, the outcome, the people around us — then we feel safe.
But the truth?
We control almost nothing.
And the moments that prove this — the ones that shake us — are the ones we fear most.
The Blame Spiral: Why Every Crisis Becomes a Culture War
Look at any tragedy and you’ll see the same cycle:
The need to assign blame.
A plane crashes into the Potomac in D.C.?
The right blames DEI protocols in air traffic control.
The left blames military helicopters and DOGE cutbacks… from a week ago.
Children die in a Texas flood?
We lash out at the camp director, the city, the state, FEMA, the president.
It doesn’t matter who — someone has to pay.
We’ve lost our tolerance for mystery, for randomness, for not knowing. So we fill that void with judgment.
And in a polarized world, every act of God turns into a political football.
But that’s just the second half of the cycle.
First, we blame ourselves.
We should’ve seen it coming.
Should’ve worked harder.
Should’ve parented differently.
Should’ve been more prepared.
Should’ve… should’ve… should’ve.
And when that loop hits enough times without resolution?
That’s where you find the real disease of our time:
Anxiety, depression, self-loathing masked as high performance.
We hustle harder, smile brighter, optimize every inch of our lives — all while quietly unraveling.
Because when you believe you’re supposed to be in control, every failure feels like a moral flaw.
We’ve medicalized the symptoms, but the root cause is deeply cultural.
We built an entire society on the illusion that if you just try hard enough, you can control it all.
And when that myth cracks, people crumble.
Instagram Is Control Theater
When reality refuses to cooperate, we build a new one.
Social media isn’t just a highlight reel — it’s a performance of control. A world where we can choose the light, the angle, the edit, the caption. We don’t just curate beauty — we curate stability.
We filter our way to a better reality — one where we look happy, loved, and balanced, even if we’re breaking.
We can’t control our jobs, our marriages, our moods, or our metabolisms.
But the crop tool? That we’ve mastered.
We fake confidence, harmony, peace.
And then we scroll through other people’s fake confidence, harmony, peace… and wonder why we feel like shit.
The wider the gap between who we show and who we are, the lonelier it feels.
It’s no longer just “keeping up with the Joneses.”
It’s pretending to be a version of the Joneses that even they don’t believe in anymore.
COVID: The Moment the Illusion Cracked
COVID wasn’t just a health crisis — it was a spiritual one.
For a species addicted to control, COVID was the nightmare scenario.
No clear answers.
No guaranteed outcomes.
No “if you just do this, you’ll be fine.”
The scientists said, “Do this and you’ll be safe.” So we did it.
But we weren’t safe.
Then they said, “Actually, it’s this other thing now.”
And instead of admitting they were scared and unsure, they performed certainty.
Masked their fear in confidence.
And in doing so, broke our trust.
People didn’t rebel against science.
They rebelled against the lie that someone, somewhere was in control.
And when people feel out of control, they rebel.
Not out of malice. Out of fear.
Climate Change: Fight, Freeze, and the False Promise of Control
Climate change is another theater of control.
The right freezes — denies, ignores, minimizes.
Because if it’s real and unstoppable, then what’s the point?
The left fights — screams, protests, demands urgent action.
But even if we did everything right starting today, the most significant benefits wouldn’t be felt for another 20 years.
This is the crisis that exposes how powerless we truly are — and it’s driving us mad.
Both responses — freeze and fight — are rooted in panic.
We’re facing a planetary issue that cannot be controlled by any one person, party, or country.
That’s an unbearable truth for a generation taught to believe that effort always equals outcome.
We scream into the void while scrolling TikTok.
We pray to carbon offsets while booking cheap flights.
We say it’s too late — or not our fault.
The world burns.
And we burn out.
Science Became the New Religion
In losing traditional religion, we didn’t lose our need for faith — we just redirected it.
We replaced pews with peer-reviewed journals.
Psalms with predictions.
God with Google.
We replaced “God will save us” with “Trust the science.”
But science was never meant to give us meaning.
It’s a process. Not a promise.
And when we turn it into a belief system instead of a method for inquiry, we’re just trading one illusion for another.
We’re desperate for something to believe in that makes us feel safe.
But real safety doesn’t come from control.
It comes from surrender.
The Only Thing You Actually Control
The serenity prayer says it best:
“Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.”
That wisdom is rare.
Most people live their whole lives trying to change the wrong things.
They try to change the outcome instead of the process.
They chase guarantees instead of presence.
They forget that what you actually do have control over is your reaction, your consciousness, your actions, and your values.
We can’t guarantee success.
But we can show up.
We can set a plan and stick to the process.
We can stay grounded when the wave hits.
And we can remind ourselves, over and over, that the goal was never to stop the ocean — just to keep breathing.
Letting Go and Riding the Wave
So where does that leave us?
With the truth.
And it’s a liberating one.
We are not in control.
Not really. Not ever.
But that doesn’t mean we aren’t safe.
That doesn’t mean we can’t feel joy.
I’m learning this in real time.
I’ve spent most of my life trying to out-think fear.
Trying to master every scenario.
Trying to keep everyone happy, every risk calculated, every threat neutralized.
I made flowcharts for everything.
Had a backup plan for the backup plan.
Smiled when I was dying inside.
Anticipated every risk, every mood, every shift in energy in the room — and called it love.
And it nearly broke me.
But I’m starting to believe there’s another way.
Through therapy. Through mindfulness. Through parenting.
Through letting go.
Through holding my son on a boogie board and realizing:
He’s safe. I’ve got him.
And maybe — just maybe — someone’s got me, too.
You Can Let Go Now
This isn’t a sermon. I’m not offering steps or strategies.
I’m just saying this:
If you’ve been feeling like the world’s on fire… you’re not crazy.
If you’ve been trying to hold it all together… I see you.
If you’re exhausted from pretending you’re in control… you’re not alone.
You don’t have to carry all of it.
And you definitely don’t have to carry it alone.
If this resonates, I’m here. I’m listening.
Maybe we can ride the next wave together.
—David