Everything I write comes down to one thing: replacing default with intention. Default is what you do without choosing it, repeating what was done before or what others do. Intention is consciously committing to a direction. Each piece approaches it from a different angle, and together they build toward an authentic, happy and meaningful life.

Trusting, surrendering, and leaving room for life to unfold can help us live more happily and recognize possibilities for contributing that might otherwise never have come up.

As you develop a clearer understanding of your purpose, you have a framework for recognizing what fits with how you want to live and what you want to contribute. Some opportunities clearly align with that. They feel right, and you are ready to follow them.

Others are less straightforward. An opportunity may feel meaningful and still frighten you. It may ask something of you that you are unsure you want to or can give, or it may look very different from what you had envisioned. Another may be tempting because of the money, recognition, or possibilities it offers, while taking you away from what you value.

This is where saying yes to life asks for more than a willingness to accept what comes. How do we recognize when it might be fear that is stopping us from doing something we actually should pursue? Or how do we remain open to what life brings while knowing when to say no?

In the earlier piece on ego, we explored how protecting our self-image can influence what we pursue. Looking back at my own path, I can see how strongly my ego shaped my ambitions and the way I arranged my life around my career. That ego-motivated drive did help me get started and achieve a great deal. Over time, understanding my purpose and what I value gave me a better basis for recognizing which opportunities to follow.

I was a young mother, raising my children on my own. My children are mixed-race and attended a predominantly white school, where many other parents were ten to twenty years older than I was and came from dual-income households. At times, it became quite clear how little was expected of me or of how well my children would do.

I wanted to prove them wrong and set myself the goal of becoming financially better off on my own than those families. Looking back, I can clearly recognize the ego in that ambition. But even though that motivation was rooted in ego rather than the common good, my willpower was enormous. My circumstances had already taught me the need to persevere. Because of that, I reached my financial goals relatively quickly, within a couple of years.

Once I was financially comfortable, I had room to sort of wake up and look around. I had achieved what I had been working toward, but I was unhappy. I did not care about my job and the space I was in. I missed being around people who shared my interests, with whom I could have the conversations I wanted to have. Life had been so occupied with work and kids that some parts of me had received very little attention.

This is when I began looking back at the first interests I could remember. As I described in the earlier piece on purpose, I had always asked questions about what I was doing here and about the universe. Returning to those questions led me to quantum physics. I became absorbed in studying quantum, as well as exploring consciousness. Over the years, that exploration expanded into psychological sciences, philosophy, ethics, the science of happiness and purpose, and other subjects in which I have since gotten certified. My love of learning, one of my top VIA character strengths, was taking over my life. I was following an interest without knowing where it would lead or even the thought of it having to lead somewhere.

Although I moved into the deep tech space professionally after some years, which already made me much happier, I did not expect there would be a place for me in quantum. At best, I hoped to visit CERN one day. I was studying quantum out of fascination, but I was not aware of the quantum technology industry that just started arising, or how much it might need someone with my professional experience. Looking back, that possibility seems so obvious. Yet, as I explored in the previous piece on the limits of our understanding, I had already filed it under “out of reach”, as a place I would never belong.

But one day, without actively looking for it, a major opportunity arose that allowed me to work at the heart of the global quantum community. I was incredibly grateful. After years of exploring quantum on my own, I could now bring my professional experience into a field I loved, surrounded by people with whom I felt a sense of belonging. Through some job crafting of my own, the position ended up allowing me to connect people and help create a sense of belonging across the quantum community. Coming into the field from outside gave me a perspective I could bring to that work. I was actually able to make a meaningful contribution. If you’re interested in more on that story, I’ve discussed it in this podcast.

By then, my purpose was much more clear and developed. Connecting people and creating belonging allowed me to live an important part of it. But I could see that the role did not give me room to practice the full breadth of my purpose, or to maintain the foundation I needed to live it: caring for myself, being present for my family, and having space for what nourishes me.

Over about fifteen years of building my career, my dedication had time and time again become so strong that it took over. There was almost nothing I would not push through, even at the expense of myself. I had grown used to everything being urgent, constantly needing to show up and travel. At one point in my career, I had taken twenty flights in the first two months of the year. I had already decided back then that I did not want to continue living that way. It was in contradiction with my values.

There were great moments of enjoyment, but much of the time I was consumed by work and what it was meant to lead to. I did not want to reach the end of my life and realize I had spent it constantly working toward a possible future, leaving too little room to live my purpose or enjoy the only thing we know we have: the present moment. Life is happening only now, but when we are caught up in the rat race, we are really just postponing it.

Starting my own business within the quantum space offered a way to continue contributing to a field I love, with more room to live my purpose fully. But leaving meant giving up a position I had worked hard to reach, with considerable opportunities for further growth in terms of status and power. I recognized the part of me that wanted to hold on to that. But that was my ego talking, and we don’t let our ego take over.

By then, I was so strongly grounded in my purpose, in what I value and what I do not, that the decision was completely clear and easy to make.

Later on, at several points after becoming my own boss, I was offered highly attractive positions. And they did make me question whether I should accept. Mostly because they brought up the dilemma of saying yes to life and accepting the opportunities presented to me. And even more so, they brought up the fear of saying no: what if I turned down this offer when I had no financial certainty otherwise?

That fear was strong enough that it took me a while to realize what I of course already knew, that I had been earning even more for far less of my time, giving me no reason at all to doubt the future. I was on the right path, and so opportunities always came up at the right time. I already experienced and trusted that, and that conviction brought me back to what I value and what accepting would mean for my ability to serve my purpose. So I gladly declined.

One of the most important things it has done for me, is that I can now often let the day begin without immediately filling that space. I still work hard, but I don’t become too preoccupied with a false sense of urgency. I don’t become the job. Instead, I wake up with an open mind. An idea for something to write might come to me, and I can follow it. Or I might feel the need for silence and go to the beach before I start work. Life has a healthy pace, and my mind has a healthy amount of space for things to flow.

An opportunity can look like progress while taking you away from what you value. Another might feel right, even though you cannot explain where it will lead. Let’s explore how to navigate those decisions.

Saying yes to life
I believe in saying yes to life: approaching opportunities as though the work has been given to me by the universe itself. That means being willing to respond to what comes, even when it looks different from what I imagined.

In The Surrender Experiment, Michael Singer describes setting aside his personal fears and preferences and allowing life to unfold. I tend to agree, but I have also run into some difficulty with that belief. Something does not feel right, yet I do need to seriously consider it because saying yes is the way I have chosen to live. In trying to surrender, we should be mindful of not ignoring our hesitation because we think we should say yes.

As I explored in the ego piece, even a spiritual belief can become an image we feel obliged to maintain. I want to remain open to an opportunity without deciding in advance that openness must end in agreement.

An honest no can belong to that openness too, for example, when choosing in line with your purpose. That is how I understand the practice in my own life.

Learning to listen before deciding
By heart, I mean our felt sense of what matters and what feels right to give ourselves to. An opportunity can make sense on paper while asking us to live in a way we do not want. Another can feel deeply meaningful before we can explain where it might lead. Heart over head means giving that understanding a guiding role, while using our thinking to explore how to act on it.

While studying existential well-being, I encountered an approach called Focusing. It involves paying attention to a “felt sense”: an initially unclear, bodily sense of a situation as a whole. We allow it time to take shape and look for a word or image that fits what we are experiencing.

Before asking what we should do, we should notice how the situation affects us. We can ask ourselves: “What is this situation doing to me?”

Perhaps an invitation brings interest alongside fear of being judged. Perhaps we feel obliged to accept, but feel little connection to the work or activity itself. This gives us something more specific to explore.

Leaving room for life to unfold
Being caught up in the ‘rat race’ also means that so much of our time and attention is committed in advance to the demands of work. When we wake up thinking, “What time is it? I need to leave the house in an hour, so start rushing,” our attention is already occupied. It leaves little space for spontaneous ideas to arise in the first place, let alone the freedom to follow them.

Research on creative incubation offers another perspective on why that space can be useful. In one experiment, people first thought of unusual uses for everyday objects. Some then spent a break doing a simple task, while others did a demanding task, rested, or had no break. When they returned to the same objects, the simple-task group showed the greatest improvement in the originality of their ideas. They also reported more mind wandering than those doing the demanding task. In that experiment, doing something undemanding helped people return to a question they had already considered with more original possibilities.

In two studies of professional writers and physicists, participants reported that ideas arising while their minds wandered away from work were more often associated with getting past a problem they had been stuck on than ideas arising while they were working.

These findings support the value of leaving room for something to come to mind. When we fill all our attention with what we have to do, often driven by a false sense of urgency, we leave less room for ideas to come to us. Perhaps some of those are the ideas life wants to present us with.

This also makes me question what we are keeping from the world through the way we have organized society and work. So much of our time and attention is committed in advance to earning a living, meeting the demands of our jobs, and keeping businesses growing. What ideas and possibilities never have the space to arise?

It brings George Orwell’s 1984 to mind, particularly its concern with freedom of thought. How much room do we actually leave ourselves to think freely when our attention is constantly occupied by what is expected of us?

Imagine if we could all wake up with room to let something arise, and the freedom to act on it. We have these incredible minds. What might we discover, create, and make possible for one another if more of that potential had room to develop? I think of that as part of what manifesting our world together could mean: giving what we have to offer the space to take shape and contribute to the common good.

That is also how leaving room for spontaneity connects with surrender. When every hour has been assigned in advance, we leave little room to respond to what life brings. Making space allows an unexpected idea, encounter, or direction to become part of our day, instead of having to compete with everything we have already decided must happen.

In the Harvard course on Chinese philosophy, we explored spontaneity as a capacity developed through practice: learning to sense a changing situation and respond to it, rather than imposing categories decided in advance.

As I like to connect to Zhuangzi examples, the book tells of a man swimming in a river with powerful currents. When asked how he manages it, he explains that he moves with the currents instead of struggling against them. He has lived beside the water since childhood; what he learned has become natural to him. As we become more attentive, we can respond to what a situation asks of us.

In practice
Bring an opportunity you are considering to mind. Before asking what you should do, ask: “What is this situation doing to me?” Notice how it feels in your body, without immediately trying to explain it. Give that feeling some time, and see whether a word or image comes to mind that captures it. Check whether it fits what you feel, and allow it to become clearer.

Consider what you feel about the work or activity itself, and how much concern about what others might think, or being seen, is influencing your decision.

Return to what you value and what allows you to live your purpose. Consider what saying yes would ask of that foundation.

Either way, ensure to leave some time uncommitted. Allow an idea, interest, or need for silence to arise without having to justify it through a future result.

Singer (2015)
Gendlin (1996)
Baird et al. (2012)
Gable, Hopper & Schooler (2019)
Orwell (1949)
Legge (1891)