Learning to Trade Control for Presence
Looking back, I see the shift clear as day. In 2023, I leaned hard on control—details, contingencies, the belief that if I just tightened the screws enough, nothing could come loose. By 2024, the screws had already rattled out, and I was staring down a kind of fragility I’d never known before.
One year, I was convincing myself discipline was enough. Next, I was joking about my “part-dragon phase” just to soften the gut-punch of realizing I’m flesh and blood like everyone else. What hasn’t changed is the truth at the center: the details I need to pay attention to aren’t the external ones. They’re internal—the quiet daily choices that keep me alive, standing, and present with the people who’d notice if I wasn’t.
That’s not the answer I wanted to give, but it’s the only one that matters.
For most of my life, I’ve been the kind of person who sweats the details. I suppose it grew out of fear—fear of making a mistake, fear of letting something slip. My default mode was to be squared away: backup plans layered on top of contingency plans, every angle covered, every risk accounted for. If you’d asked me back then what details I needed to pay more attention to, I would’ve shrugged and said, “None. I’ve got it handled.”
But then life came along with its own set of details I couldn’t spreadsheet or strong-arm my way through. Health issues hit, and with them came changes I didn’t ask for and didn’t want. At first, I fell into my usual pattern—pretend control, mask the cracks, mutter “fuck it” when the new limits pressed too hard. But weakness has a way of humbling you. For the first time, I wasn’t sure how things would turn out.
That’s when my circle—the family I chose—stepped in. They reminded me I wasn’t done fighting, even when my body said otherwise. I’m not used to relying on anyone, but I learned to lean when I had to. It turns out that those details matter just as much as the ones I used to obsess over.
So what do I need to pay more attention to? The unglamorous, invisible stuff: eating better, resting when I should, saying no before I collapse, listening to my people when they call me on my bullshit. All the little choices that keep me here, present, and alive.
It’s tempting to say I’m doing this just for myself, and on some level that’s true. But it isn’t lost on me that my brothers, my friends, my people—they want me around too. There’s nothing better than feeling that kind of love. And honestly, I’m getting too old to risk another beating, figurative or otherwise.
Memoirs of Madness 