One time, I lived in a magic house with friends with a gate in the backyard that opened to an ancient woodland in north London. I would go on long walks in the forest with no phone.

One time, on one of these walks my friend’s dog showed up out of nowhere. The dog was alone but in the distance I could hear my friend calling out for their dog. And each time the dog would come to me instead. The dog was having a lot of fun playing this game, but hearing my friend’s voice bounce around the forest was stressing me out.

To further complicate things, the dog also responded better to Mandarin than English, and on a good day would still selectively decide when to listen to me.

Eventually, after the dog broke my train of thought for the nth time interrupting the conversation I was in, and my walking companion asked:

Them: Why are you stressed?

Me: Because of the dog.

Them: Well are you in control?

Me: Of course, it’s just a dog.

Them: Okay. If you are in control then act.

Me: *i try really hard to catch the dog and return, without dog*

Them: *laughing.* look you are not in control of the dog. you can only control your response to the dog. how do you want to respond to the dog?

The illusion of control is an interesting thing.

I know I am in the illusion of control and yet keep trying anyway. It feels like chasing the dog around the forest and stubbornly wanting to believe the dog will come when called, no no just trust me this time the dog will come. but the dog is playing. We are doing entirely different games. and I am playing the wrong moves for both.

The illusion of control takes sneaky forms

One time, I was afraid nobody would come to my birthday party. A friend had texted inviting me to join, and spontaneity makes a great disguise for avoidance. So, at the last minute I went to the banya and told everyone I’d be late to my own party.

My birthday was fine. People came. But everyone came just a bit late, because I said I would be late. In doing so I signaled ever so slightly that I did not care, giving others permission to also not care.

Some friends even changed their plans and went to the banya to surprise me there. I only learned this when I saw them getting out of the uber, as I was getting in one to leave. Ships in the night.

After my birthday I was like What The Heck Happened Here. My wants and my actions were at odds - I was full of care; but also FEAR. what if nobody came and worse, I wanted them there. could you imagine? not getting what you wanted, after wanting? That would’ve been far too painful. Instead of allowing that to happen, I took matters into my own hands. I tried to control a failure that hadn’t even happened.

And for some reason the best way my monkey brain came up with to avoid this potential painful outcome, was 1. not to accept this as a possibility, and then 2. do the practical move of texting people to come a bit early, but instead i went with signaling i dont care about my birthday and 3. pulled a bayna

It’s cool to care

It can be painfilled to care!

It’s tempting to tell myself:

if i don’t care, i can’t be hurt.

But I do care, so I can be hurt.

And pretending at control doesn’t change that.

Now I try to notice when I do a care, and not flinch away.