When life won’t settle down.
So much of life can feel like an attempt to get back to some version of normal.
Back to calm. Back to stability. Back to the place where we can finally exhale and say:
Okay. We’re good now.
In business, we build systems. In leadership, we create structure. In family, we try to find rhythm. In life, we look for the ground beneath us.
And that makes sense.
We are not wrong for wanting steadiness.
Recently, at an EO Catalyst training in Nashville, one of the speakers shared a frame I haven’t stopped thinking about:
Life brings chaos. We create order. From that order, we grow. And then growth creates a new level of chaos.
So once again, we work to create order.
Chaos. Order. Growth. New chaos. New order.
It sounds simple, but it landed for me because it feels so much like the experience of being human.
Entrepreneurs know this. Parents know this. Leaders know this.
Anyone who has ever built something, loved someone, led through change, or tried to hold a life together while life kept moving knows this.
We are often building order out of chaos.
And sometimes that order gives us a breath. A rhythm. A place to stand.
But for those of us who are committed to growth, there will almost always be another moment where the old structure no longer fits.
Another stretch. Another unknown. Another season that feels less settled than we would like.
And this is usually where we start to tighten.
We try to force clarity before clarity is ready. We try to make order out of something that is still moving. We try to control what cannot be controlled because the alternative feels too uncomfortable.
And I want to be careful here, because some chaos is not cute.
Some seasons are genuinely hard.
A sick parent. A child who needs more than we know how to give. A business that feels uncertain. A relationship in transition. Grief. Exhaustion.
The kind of life chaos that does not need a reframe as much as it needs compassion, support, and space to be real.
So this is not about pretending chaos is exciting.
And it is not about telling ourselves to “just enjoy the ride” when the ride feels scary, overwhelming, or deeply tender.
It is about noticing where our resistance to what is already happening may be creating even more tension than the moment itself.
Because sometimes the thing is hard.
And then we add another layer by fighting the fact that it is hard.
We think surrender means defeat. Or inaction. Or complacency. Or letting life happen to us.
But I don’t think surrender is any of those things.
Surrender is the moment we stop using all of our energy to argue with reality.
It is the moment we tell the truth about what is here.
This is happening. This is uncertain. This is not moving as quickly as I want it to. This is not yet ready to become clear.
And from that place, we can ask a much better question:
What can I actually influence from here?
Because there is a difference between surrendering and giving up.
Giving up collapses.
Surrender softens the grip.
Giving up says, “Nothing matters.”
Surrender says, “This matters, and I need to stop exhausting myself trying to control the part that is not mine to control.”
And from there, we can often see more clearly.
Where am I creating more tension than this moment already holds?
What am I trying to control that may not actually be mine to control?
Where is my need for certainty costing me energy I need for something else?
Where is perfectionism disguising itself as responsibility?
What is the next clear step I can take from here?
Sometimes I think we create the dam ourselves.
The experience may already be chaotic, but our resistance to it can block the very movement we are looking for.
We tighten. We push. We overthink. We try to solve the whole thing at once.
We burn ourselves out trying to make the unknown feel known before it is ready.
And sometimes, the more useful move is not to force the answer.
It is to soften enough to see the next pathway.
The next conversation. The next boundary. The next support. The next choice. The next breath.
Not the whole answer. Just the next clear step.
This is the practice I am sitting with right now.
Not giving up on order. Not giving up on growth. Not pretending chaos is easy.
But remembering that sometimes the path forward does not come from gripping harder.
Sometimes it comes from loosening our grip just enough to see what is still possible.
If this reflection resonated, I'd love to continue the conversation.
Whether through a guided meditation, leadership coaching, a keynote, or another reflection, my hope is always the same:
To help you lead and live with greater clarity, presence, and possibility.
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