I bought this domain a month ago. Paid for the WordPress subscription. Told myself this blog would be a way to think out loud—about integrity, hard choices, the parts of me I don’t always like. Then I stalled. Life got slightly better, or maybe I got slightly better at pretending it was. And I shelved the idea.
But today, after a brutal 24 hours—personally and professionally—I came back. Because this moment, right now, is exactly what I said I wanted to write through.
The central question I keep circling is this:
How do I let go of control without walking away from responsibility?
Part I: A Familiar Pattern
Yesterday, I picked a dumb fight with my wife. The details barely matter—something small, layered with unspoken things. I was being manipulative. Trying to get a reaction. Trying to provoke guilt, so I could be the one to comfort her afterward.
It’s not the first time I’ve seen this pattern in myself. In past relationships, it always showed up toward the end. When I sensed distance, I’d grasp tighter—not with vulnerability, but control disguised as emotion. The irony is painful: the more I tried to bring them closer, the more I pushed them away.
This time, my wife didn’t take the bait. She’s stronger than that. And I woke up to a quiet, simmering sense that I might’ve finally gone too far. “I don’t know how to resolve this,” she texted. “Maybe we should cancel the vacation.”
The big one. The expensive one. The one we’ve been planning for months.
Suddenly I was spiraling. Divorce? Is that where this goes? What happens to the kids? The money? The story I’ve built around my life?
Part II: Wrong Day to Fall Apart
Of course, today was our quarterly roadmap session. As head of product, I was supposed to be leading it. The CEO was asking hard questions while I was replaying last night’s fight and catastrophizing my future. I was nodding along, pretending to engage, while my brain ran loops around worst-case scenarios.
But sometime around 4pm, something cracked. Not peace—just exhaustion. My mind was too tired to panic. A subtle but real shift. The part of me that thinks it can hold everything together just… gave up.
Part III: The Tennis Match
It reminded me of tennis, back in high school. There were matches I entered knowing I’d lose—top-seeded opponents I couldn’t compete against. And yet, with no expectations, I’d play some of my best tennis. I wasn’t gripping the racket too tightly. I wasn’t strategizing every point. I was just playing.
That’s how this felt. Not defeated, but freed. For once, I wasn’t clinging to a desired outcome. I wasn’t trying to win.
Part IV: The Part That Tries Too Hard
I’ve been doing IFS work with a coach lately. There’s a part of me—my Control Part—that shows up a lot. It’s helped me in a thousand ways: staying fit, saving money, pushing through hard things. It’s the reason I can delay gratification, optimize, strategize. It’s gotten me far.
But it’s also the part that panics when anything feels uncertain. The part that tries to control my wife’s feelings, manipulate dynamics at work, even outsmart mortality with routines and trackers and tweaks. It believes if I just hold on tight enough, I can prevent pain.
Today, that part exhausted itself. And when it finally stepped back, I saw the things I fear most—and didn’t break.
What if we do get divorced?
What if I lose half my money?
What if I have to explain it to family, friends, colleagues?
What if the kids have two homes?
Still standing.
And then: what if it’s not the end of the world?
What if we’re not right for each other?
What if the kids are better off with happier parents?
What if I find someone more aligned with my quirks—around money, work, even fun?
What if I have more children, which I’ve always wanted?
None of these are easy. None are what I want. But naming them loosened their grip.
It was a kind of mini fear-setting—thank you, Tim Ferriss. But more than that, it was a reckoning with a deeper truth: I can’t control the outcome. But I can choose how I show up in the face of it.
Part V: The Paradox
I still hope my marriage survives. I want to grow into the kind of partner who’s worthy of staying. But maybe that growth starts with the opposite of what I’ve been doing. Not by trying harder. Not by gripping tighter. But by letting go.
By being less afraid of loss, I can finally stop manipulating to avoid it.
By releasing control, maybe I can offer something more honest.
Not a performance. Not a strategy. Just me, trying my best to love better.
That’s what this blog is about. Choosing the better hard. Doing the work, especially when the outcome is uncertain. Especially when your ego is flaring and your patterns are screaming and your control part is throwing a tantrum.
This post doesn’t resolve anything. But it’s honest. And maybe that’s the first step.
Long Short Way 