What if you trusted yourself to handle what happens?
Not predict it. Not prevent everything that could go wrong. Not create Plans B, C, D, and E for situations that haven't even happened yet. Just trust that when something happens, you'll figure out what to do next.
A few days ago, I got a chance to test that theory.
I was called to a workplace after an employee died unexpectedly. I was there as a crisis responder, which means I had prepared for what I was walking into—or at least I thought I had. I knew what had happened. I knew why I was there. I knew what I wanted to say.
Then I stood in front of a group of about 50 men and started talking. They stared at me. Not sad. Not angry. Bewildered.
It quickly became apparent that no one had told them their coworker had died.
Well.
That wasn't in the plan.
There are moments like that when life reminds you that preparation and control are two very different things. Preparation says: I'll gather the information I have. I'll bring what I need. I'll think through what seems reasonably likely. Control says: If I prepare enough, maybe I can make sure nothing catches me off guard.
I'm not actually much of a control freak. I know this because I'm about to go on an eight-day vacation with nine other people who planned basically the entire thing, and frankly, this is my dream scenario. Tell me what time to be at the airport and what shoes I need.
But put me in certain situations—especially close relationships where I care deeply about the outcome—and suddenly, hello, Ms. Anxious. I've been wondering why. Maybe it's because when something is mine—my space, my decision, my problem—I can manage my own anxiety. I can decide what to do about it.
But close relationships require sharing space, decisions, plans, and outcomes with another autonomous human being who, annoyingly, gets to have preferences of their own. Maybe sometimes what looks like wanting control is really wanting the uncertainty to go away.
Maybe being prepared enough means gathering all the facts you have at your fingertips without turning them into a Venn diagram.
And I love a good Venn diagram.
So naturally, I made one.
Maybe it means having a Plan B but deciding Plans C and D can wait until there's actually a reason to make them. Maybe it means controlling what you actually can control and recognizing that the outcome usually isn't one of those things.
Because preparation doesn't guarantee that I'll know exactly what to do. It gives me something to stand on while I figure out what to do next.
I'm leaving for Utah this week with those nine other people. They've planned the houses. The hikes. The national parks. The excursions. Someone sent me an eight-page itinerary. My responsibilities are essentially to get myself on the airplane, bring appropriate hiking clothes, and follow people who apparently know where we're going.
I'm prepared. I have absolutely no idea how the trip will unfold.
Maybe that's the point.
Because no matter how much we prepare, sometimes we walk into a room and discover nobody told the 50 people standing in front of us why we're there. Sometimes the conversation doesn't go the way we rehearsed it. Sometimes the relationship changes. Sometimes the job doesn't work out. Sometimes we get news we weren’t expecting. Sometimes we make the best decision we can and later learn something we couldn't possibly have known at the time.
And then comes another kind of control: the retrospective kind. I should have known. I should have seen it. I should have done something differently.
That's control, too—the belief that if we'd just been smarter, more careful, more prepared, we could have prevented what happened.
Maybe trusting ourselves means letting some of that go, too. You made the decision you made with the information you had at the time. You handled what was actually in front of you. And when new information arrived, you adjusted.
Maybe being prepared enough means taking some of the guilt, shame, and I should haves out of the equation.
You did the best you could with what you knew.
Pick a different story.
So maybe the question isn't, How can I make sure this turns out the way I want? Maybe it's: What would I do differently if I trusted myself to handle what happens?
I'm taking that question with me to Utah. Along with sunscreen.
I'm not completely reckless.
📝 Your Writing Bravely™ Prompt
Your turn: Think about one place in your life where you've noticed yourself gripping a little tighter lately. A relationship. A conversation. Your health. Your work. A decision you need to make.
What are you actually trying to get from control—certainty, safety, reassurance, relief from anxiety, protection from regret?
And what might change if, instead of trying to guarantee the outcome, you trusted yourself to handle what happens?
Hit reply and tell me what comes up. I read every response.
From somewhere under an arch in Utah,
Adina
P.S. If this prompt makes you wish you had more uninterrupted time to write and reflect in community, that’s exactly what we’re creating at Writing Bravely™ on September 19. You can find the details here.
