Change, power and control

We are happy for change only when we have control over it. Then it is innovation, improvement, or The Future. When we don’t have control, we think of change as a loss of freedom, an imposition, or a burden.

I am a bit sick of change. I think we all are.

Why else are people coming together to protest everything imaginable? No one consulted them about the change they are experiencing so they seek to find a feeling of control, a sense of influence, of being the master of their own domain.

We all want to feel in control.

The grumble over being asked to do a household chore is simply an expression of control—I’ll do it but I don’t have to be happy about it. Childhood tantrums are attempts to take control. That’s why we talk about toddlers as mini dictators.

Control is elusive. Maybe even a myth.

I have this joke I tell myself when teaching: you can drag a student to water, you can hold their head under, but you still can’t make them drink. If a student chooses not to engage, there is very little that you can do about it. They will continue to learn—they are learning beings, after all—but it will be painful for all involved.

Control isn’t the same as power.

Power is this interesting concept and something I notice we all seem to reach for. I’m talking about power over others, of course, where we seek to control what they think and do. This is power’s shadow masquerading as the real deal.

True power isn’t the same as control.

True power is the ability to influence this world for the greater good.

This isn’t my idea. I’ve been reading The Power Paradox by David Keltner, 2016. He says ‘Real power means enhancing the greater good, and your feeling of power will direct you to the exact way you are best equipped to do this’ (p. 160).

Power is that sense of knowing you have something to contribute and then wanting to contribute it for the benefit of others. It helps you know where you fit.

We confuse power with control, our sense of purpose with making sure things go as we want them to or people do as we tell them.

I’ve heard it said that the only person I can control is me. Not true. My control doesn’t even extend that far. An easy example is eating well: I often assume that my self-control is at fault but perhaps it is more likely that self-control is a myth, too.

Rather than seeking to improve self-control—stopping myself from doing certain things, and making myself do other things—maybe, just maybe, control over the self lies elsewhere. Maybe self-control lies with power, that sense of purpose and contribution.

When I feel I have something to contribute, I am more mindful of managing my resources (food, exercise, rest) in ways that enhance my ability to reach those goals. It isn’t perfect. Goodness knows I can become single-minded and focused, especially when chocolate is involved! And I have been susceptible to bending to the control of others, mistaking their arrogance for leadership.

I often know what I should do but it is when I feel purposeful that doing those things—eating better and defending myself—becomes easier.

Finding our purpose in times of change is where the true challenge lies. When my purpose involves being able to see people’s faces—read their unspoken communication—then it is logical that I will feel offended when that is taken away.

The pinch point is how I respond to a change that damages my sense of power, that is, my sense of purpose.

I am currently in a phase of change. I quit my position at work to go back into the classroom (where my sense of purpose is strongest). I have submitted my thesis (something that also gave me a strong sense of purpose). My children are young adults and doing great (my purpose in this stage of their lives is different from what it was).

I am, as all of us are, ordinary in my own extraordinary way.

I could let all of this change eat away at my sense of purpose and power. I could protest that I don’t like the way things keep chipping away at my sense of self and my desire for things to be familiar and orderly. Or I could see that there are still things that bring me the deep satisfaction of contributing to the greater good, that build a new sense of self, and that bring me the peace of having used my power wisely.

You see, the greater good doesn’t necessarily equate with big, noticeable moments of heroism (although sometimes it does). Most of the time the greater good is embedded in the smallest of actions.

A smile.

A wave.

A nod.

The simple act of acknowledging the value of another person:

You are extraordinary. Together, we’ve got this.