I remember a Skype status update from a friend that read: “Don’t worry, you are not in control.” Yes, I’m old enough to remember when Skype was a thing — which means I’ve had enough time to learn the hidden truth of that message: I desire control and imagine my efforts will guarantee the outcomes I want.
Looking back, I used to be stuck in the notion that I could actually control outcomes. Even more debilitating and contributing to the source of the worry was the notion that I should be able to. This worry was aggravated by seeing the gap between planned and actual outcomes and not fully comprehending that more than my efforts went into the outcomes I wanted, whether it was a difficult conversation, wanting to be liked by a group of peers, or trying to hit a deadline with a team.
I have come to realise that my clients are not very different to me. We are all trying to figure out how to navigate a world of uncertainty and complexity: to do good work and to make a difference. Yet how do we go about the work of holding the tension of caring about our work and the impact of our work, and hold lightly our expectations and attachments to its outcomes?
Leaders I work with often find themselves in the liminal space of moving through different leadership responsibilities and shifting landscapes. For example, when they transition into strategic and C-suite levels, they leave behind what seems like a narrower focus with far more control into a wider scope, where they have more influence on strategy and direction, but must rely on others to deliver outcomes. Given the widened scope, leaders at this level are subject to far more volatility, uncertainty, complexity and ambiguity (VUCA). Recently in a group coaching, when sharing what their work days look like, one said, ‘every day there is something new happening and we are making plans on shifting sands’. Stability can no longer be taken for granted. Yet, we are asked to make decisions, take accountability and remain steadfast regardless.
Many of my coaching conversations have some version of these questions: how do we move in a world of uncertainty and the unexpected, with confidence, purpose and conviction? How do we care about our work and not be undone by that care?
Below I explore the foundation of these questions from a few different perspectives: a neuroscience lens to understand what happens physiologically when we lose control; a complexity and chaos theory perspective to explore the structural reality of our world and how we experience ourselves in the world; next a psychological perspective to explore the emotional make-up of our understanding of the world, as this is the ground of my work as a coach; and finally an Eastern philosophical perspective because it is a lens through which I view the world when the other lenses fail to comfort.
A Neuroscience Perspective
Our bodies and brains are wired for survival, to anticipate and respond to threat. When we can’t predict what is around the corner, it causes our bodies to go into survival mode, which causes our brains to be flooded with stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline. A study on the difference in certainty of an outcome (0% or 100% chance of receiving an electric shock) vs the probability of an outcome (50% chance of receiving an electric shock) revealed that the physiological stress measured was more when there was uncertainty[i]. Our brains struggle to adapt to ambiguity, and when the ‘uncertainty peaks’, we enter a heightened state of vigilance — the body’s stress response to ambiguity. We are more likely to relax into acceptance, when there is certainty, even if it is a bad outcome.
It is not the outcome, but the uncertainty, that is most stressful. Equally, when we are attached to outcomes, or have a certainty of the outcomes, and they are not realised, we might despair, which can also have a physiological impact. Viktor Frankl, a neurologist and psychiatrist incarcerated in Nazi camps during World War II, in his now famous book ‘Man’s Search for Meaning’[ii], observed that many who clung to naïve hopes of being released, died in camp, whilst those who found a reason or meaning to survive, had a higher chance of survival. This view is complemented from a different angle, by Admiral Stockdale, held captive during the Vietnam war. In an interview with Jim Collins, author of Good to Great[iii], he shared the realisation that blind optimism was dangerous. But underlying faith combined with brutal acceptance of the current reality, fostered resilience.
What we are learning is that it’s not hope that kills, but the underlying foundation and relationship to hope—the difference between wishful thinking and optimism vs being purpose led combined with acceptance of current reality—fosters resilience in the face of adversity and uncertainty.
‘One way to meet our current reality is to start in the body —to slow the automatic survival response before trying to think our way through it. Practices on how to influence your own physiology and gain more mastery of yourself are thousands of years old, especially those originating in Eastern Philosophies. Now the science and research are catching up fast. For example, breathing exercises to switch from the fight-flight (sympathetic nervous system) to the rest-and-digest (parasympathetic nervous system).
This slowing down and respite allows you to notice what emotions are coming up. It gives you the space to label your emotions (affect labelling[iv] [v]). Studies have shown that noticing and naming what you are feeling, ‘I feel fear’, instead of ‘being fear’. Externalising the emotion as something that is not inherent in you vs identifying with fear—dials down the emotion. This practice gives you the space to identify the current reality that is causing the reactions in your body.
Reality checks, internal and external, anchor us in the larger scheme of things. Recognising how intricately connected we are to the larger ecosystem, we can see the levers of influence available to us. We explore this perspective of the bigger picture further on.
A Complexity and Chaos Theory Perspective
In 1972, Edward Lorenz, a professor of meteorology, popularised the idea that later became known as the butterfly effect in chaos theory. Lorenz accidentally rounded a number from six decimal places to three while rerunning a weather simulation. These tiny deterministic differences produced dramatically different results. In a conference paper it prompted him to ask the question whether “the flap of a single butterfly in Brazil set off a tornado in Texas’?[vi].
These scientific developments challenged the view of the world as predictable machine with distinct parts. The whole cannot be understood by studying its parts in isolation. New properties emerge through interactions and the conditions in which these interactions take place. Systems thinkers and complexity science explain the world as an interconnected web of relationships, where actions are sometimes amplified by time or the conditions, and therefore the ripple effects in the network is not always predictable. The world is emergent in nature and its complexity cannot be explained by one unified model. When the world is seen through these lenses, the idea that the ‘map is not the territory[vii]’makes most sense.
The sciences of chaos theory, complexity and system thinking are a call to change our perspectives on our 17th Century Newtonian beliefs about the world as a machine where we exert control on it. The world is a living, breathing, dynamic being and is always in a flux of change and renewal. Sometimes what looks like chaos and falling apart is something new emerging, and we are intricately woven into this fabric of change.
If we live in a world that is interconnected, emergent, and mysterious, how should we approach the world? Paul Cilliers, who integrated complexity theory and philosophy of science invited intellectual curiosity and modesty[viii]. As leaders we are then called to approach the world not with rigidity, but lightly held convictions, where we continuously validate and revise assumptions and understanding of the world.
What we need most of all is the understanding that in our interconnectedness, power is not centrally controlled. At the edge of chaos, uncertainty and flux is a rich soup of information. And this is where the power lies[ix]. When we combine our collective intelligences and collaborate, something new can emerge, hitherto unimagined.
A Psychological Perspective Through the Lens of Narrative Therapy
We like to know how the story ends. We want to look back and say that was my doing, and I am the author of my life. And often we are seeking a story book ending of our making. We want to believe that all our striving will produce the outcome we seek. Our attachment to control makes us feel safe and stable. To be not in control can make us feel untethered, without ground, or even purpose.
Human beings are storied creatures and meaning makers[x]. Whether it is through religion, cultural artefacts, philosophy, art, science, we find ways to make meaning of the world. Because the brain perceives ambiguity as a threat, we strive to make sense of the world by smoothening the edges and ascribing meaning to the gaps. A knowable linear world is constructed. One of the ways in which we do this—keep ourselves safe and anchored—is to drown out the noise. Because we are wired to notice threats—such as an ambiguity or uncertainty—we will hyper-focus on the cues that warn us of impending danger.
Tor Nørretranders[xi], a Danish science writer, argues that human consciousness is a user interface. In his work he explains that it is our subconscious that handles all the complex data, registering the data about half a second before our consciousness registers simplified data. Of the 11 million bits flooding our brain, only 16-40 reach conscious awareness, giving us an organised illusion of reality. This organising of a coherent story is what psychologist Daniel Kahneman[xii] calls System 1 thinking—which is influenced by our past experiences and emotional states. System 1 is fast — it is what we rely on in emergencies, when there is no time for System 2’s slower analysis. System 1 is an efficient way to stay safe but not always the most efficient or optimal, when so many millions of other cues and possibilities are drowned out.
In order to notice more than what we program ourselves to notice, we have to examine the way we program ourselves, the way we make meaning, and tell stories about the world and ourselves. When we have more awareness of the underlying dominant, automatic sensemaking and reactions, we can create the space to notice what we have been filtering out.
It can be as simple as micromanaging your team member every step of the way on a task, because of that one time he failed to deliver something on time. You might even tell yourself that the reason he now delivers is because you check in regularly. This story — that your team member fails to deliver — has now become what narrative therapists Michael White and David Epston called a dominant story: a narrative so established that it filters what we are even willing to see. The underlying story controls your responses to the world. Often, we are not even cognisant of the story we have told ourselves, and then the story controls us.
We center ourselves in the story as the protagonist, agentic in driving the story. If we don’t feel we have agency, we would feel victimised, powerless in the winds of a world beyond our control. And when we are actively involved, and we feel we have choice, and something feels familiar we have what is called an illusion of control[xiii]. This feeling of control is often necessary and practical when moving through our everyday life. But it becomes a burden when we are over optimistic or unable to be accepting when things don’t go our way.
To gain clarity and agency, we have to uncover the stories (illusion) underneath our responses. What is driving our behaviour, our stress response? What cues and information are we not willing to see or blind to because of our attachment to a particular view of the world?
In a world where we cannot control outcomes, we do have control over the choices we make, that in turn can influence our systems. Taking responsibility for our actions — weighing them against the best available information and our best intentions — is what gives us power and agency. This is the narrative identity that interests me most as a coach.
An Eastern Wisdom Perspective
One of the foundations of the philosophy of Buddhism is built on the idea of impermanence (anicca in pali). All conditions, the physical world to our bodies, to our emotions and thoughts, are fleeting and are subject to change, decay and death. And our attachment to these impermanent things as if they were real is a cause for and the root of suffering (dukkha in pali).
Alongside impermanence and suffering sits a third mark of existence: anatta — non-self. The concept proposes that what we take to be a fixed, permanent self — the protagonist of our story, the one who must author outcomes — is itself a construction. The Buddha called the mental proliferation that begins with “I am” papañca: the spinning of self-referential stories that lie at the root of conflict and grasping. What we call ego is, in this view, the storyteller mistaking itself for the story. To see this clearly is not to lose yourself. It is to loosen the storyteller’s grip — and discover that action, care, and choice remain entirely possible without a fixed self-demanding that things turn out a particular way.
Every time I remind myself of these ‘truths’ it feels so simple. But our human minds are complex and layered, and do not want to face the reality of the impermanence of our ideas, actions, thoughts, feelings, relationships, let alone the impermanence of our existence. We want to matter, we care.
But we can care. We can care about the choices we make and the actions we take. But caring deeply for the outcomes causes us anxiety. This tension is explored beautifully in the Bhagavad Gita[xiv], where Prince Arjuna struggles with the implications of fighting a forthcoming battle. Lord Krishna replies with the advice that ‘you have the right to action, but not the fruit of that action’.
Sometimes we find ourselves in unimaginably difficult situations, caught between a rock and a hard place, like Prince Arjuna, about to wage war with a faction of his family. If he doesn’t fight he loses. If he fights and defeats them, he loses the family. Not acting is also an action. Fighting what is beyond our control does not bring us control. Only more anxiety—more suffering.
Kamal Ravikant, author and entrepreneur, after a silent retreat asked one of the monks how to find peace. The monk thought for a little while and said “I say yes to everything that happens[xv]”. ‘Ravikant realised on returning home that fighting what is, creates the suffering. Acceptance removes it.’
In a scene in the film ‘Instinct’[xvi], actor Anthony Hopkins, playing the role of an anthropologist researching Gorillas, is shown looking miserable, in the middle of the jungle in the pouring rain. He holds a banana leaf over his head in a futile exercise to keep dry. He is surrounded by the gorillas calmly eating leaves in the pouring rain. Hopkins’ character throws away the leaf and accepts the rain. A slow smile of joy comes over his face.
We act. From moment to moment, with the wisdom that ours is to submit and adapt.
As the late Joanna Macy[xvii], environmental activist, author and scholar of Buddhism, general systems theory and deep ecology points out, even in a despairing world, we can practice ‘active hope’, where we don’t wait for some external agency to bring us hope. We cultivate our hope, not born out of blind optimism, but forged from having clarity about the moment, our intention and our underlying values, and by taking actions.
Our true power comes not from control, but our acceptance of what is in front of us, and the choices we make and the actions we take. Not being attached to the fruits of our labour and allowing the outcome to unfold, is also a choice we can make. And here lies our deepest well of peace.
[i] de Berker, A.O., Rutledge, R.B., Mathys, C., Marshall, L., Cross, G.F., Dolan, R.J. and Bestmann, S. (2016), ‘Computations of uncertainty mediate acute stress responses in humans’,
Nature Communications, 7, p. 10996. Available at: https://doi.org/10.1038/ncomms10996
[ii] Frankl, V.E. (1963) Man’s Search for Meaning: An Introduction to Logotherapy. New York: Washington Square Press.
[iii] Collins, J. (2001) Good to Great: Why Some Companies Make the Leap… and Others Don’t. New York: HarperBusiness
[iv] Lieberman, M.D., Eisenberger, N.I., Crockett, M.J., Tom, S.M., Pfeifer, J.H. and Way, B.M. (2007) ‘Putting feelings into words: affect labeling disrupts amygdala activity in response to affective stimuli’, Psychological Science, 18(5), pp. 421-428.
[v] Torre, J.B. and Lieberman, M.D., 2018. Putting feelings into words: Affect labeling as implicit emotion regulation. Emotion Review, 10(2), pp.116-124.
[vi] Lorenz, E.N. (1972) ‘Predictability: does the flap of a butterfly’s wings in Brazil set off a tornado in Texas?’, paper presented at the 139th Meeting of the American Association for the Advancement of Science, Cambridge, MA, 29 December.
[vii]. Korzybski, A. (1933) Science and Sanity: An Introduction to Non-Aristotelian Systems and General Semantics. Lancaster, PA: International Non-Aristotelian Library Publishing Company.
[viii] Cilliers, P. (1998) Complexity and Postmodernism: Understanding Complex Systems. London: Routledge.
[ix] Wheatley, M.J., 1993. Chaos and complexity: What can science teach. OD Practitioner, 25(3), pp.2-10.
[x] Bruner, J.S. (1991) ‘The narrative construction of reality’, Critical Inquiry, 18(1), pp. 1-21.
[xi] Nørretranders, T. (1998). The User Illusion: Cutting Consciousness Down to Size. Viking. (Original Danish: Mærk verden, 1991)
[xii] Kahneman, D. (2011) Thinking, Fast and Slow. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux.
[xiii] Langer, E.J. (1975) ‘The illusion of control’, Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 32(2), pp. 311-328.
[xiv] Easwaran, E. (trans.) (2007) The Bhagavad Gita. 2nd edn. Tomales, CA: Nilgiri Press.
[xv] Ravikant, K. (14 September 2015) Interview/talk: ‘Love Yourself Like Your Life Depends On It! Kamal Ravikant Powerful Life-Changing Interview’ [Online video]. Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gu9PTw3G6xI&t=1386s Accessed 14 July 2026.
[xvi] Turteltaub, J. (Director) (1999) Instinct. [Film] United States: Touchstone Pictures and Spyglass Entertainment
[xvii] Macy, J. and Johnstone, C. (2012) Active Hope: How to Face the Mess We’re In Without Going Crazy. Novato, CA: New World Library
