Haves and choices

ONE OF THE HABITS of language that I look out for when I’m listening to someone’s story is that little phrase I have to. Sometimes what follows that phrase isn’t terribly interesting, simply the acknowledgement of a commitment or chore. But at other times those three words can do a lot of work to obscure some agency or choice, perhaps one that we are uncomfortable being honest with ourselves about. “I have to enforce this RTO policy even though I think it’s foolish,” is really a cover for, “I choose to enforce this RTO policy because I don’t want to get fired over it.” It can be awkward to admit the reasons we do things, so we tuck that admission behind the door of “I have to,” where we don’t have to see it.

I use an RTO policy as the example here because it’s part of a related pattern. Policies are useful mechanisms for delegating choice and accountability. An engineering manager doesn’t have the time or inclination to determine what the vacation policy should be, or how to accommodate all the possible scenarios in adjudicating it, so she follows the policy that her peers in HR create, and defers to them when anything is unclear. That’s fine and expected and the normal course of events in most organizations, most of the time. Where it gets interesting is when that policy bumps up into beliefs and values that the engineering manager holds, or when circumstances emerge where a plain application of the policy would obviously do harm: does she simply comply with the policy, as that’s what she’s been told to do? Or does she admit that she has some agency, that to comply is a choice, one that she is making for herself?

There are many other circumstances when that agency can either show up or be hidden away: when we witness something that strikes us as wrong or harmful (“I have to stick to my lane,” vs “I choose to stay silent because I don’t want to risk my promotion”); when we’re under pressure (“I have to work late to meet the deadline,” vs “I choose to work late because I’m afraid of being laid off”); when we’re overwhelmed (“I have to do what the boss says,” vs “I choose to do as I’m told because I’m too tired to figure out what else to do.”)

I’m not passing judgment over any of these choices; they may very well be the right ones, or at least the best ones, in any particular moment. But it’s worth peering behind the “have to” shield to understand what’s really going on.

Because there are two narratives here, each with different resources and accompaniments. The “have to” narrative positions us as repositories of instructions made elsewhere, as if we were just programs following the code we’ve been given. It conditions us to accept more and more instructions over time, as we become accustomed to that programming. It’s debilitating, and it often feels debilitating: as if the wind were knocked out of us, or our limbs become too heavy to move.

The “choose to” narrative has no illusions about our power and recognizes that we are small players in a bigger, and certainly unjust, world. But we are not machines. And maybe we don’t like the choices available to us, maybe we wish there were others within reach. But once we accept that there are choices to make, we may notice where we have some room to maneuver, some space to play with, some opportunity or avenue or loophole we can exploit.

Because even when your back is up against a wall, there’s usually some elbow room. You might let your team know that you disagree with the RTO policy, and that while you can’t stop the office keycard system from documenting their presence, you have no intention of nagging them about it. You might continue to put video calls on every meeting and politely fail to comment on who seems to call in more often. You might suggest that your immunocompromised engineer make a request for an accommodation, or offer to be a reference for anyone who needs to move on. You might start making some plans to move on yourself, or at least to be ready to, should the need arise.

None of these choices will exactly halt the machinery of capitalism in its inevitable march through our lives. Most of them won’t even noticeably slow it down. But what happens when you refuse to acknowledge your own choices is you eventually forget who you are: you become accustomed to having so much decided for you that you forget what it means to decide for yourself. You have a hard time knowing what it is that you want, because it isn’t presented to you as an available option. Refusing your own agency time and again is like disconnecting from a power source—the energy is still there, latent and ready, but the plug dangles inches from the outlet.

Of course, accepting that you have some agency might hurt: you bump up against the systems that constrain your choices; you see more clearly how other people’s choices limit (or expand) your own. But it keeps you connected to that source, that font of energy that is yours and no one else’s. It keeps you hooked up to who you are, and to what you want. And likely there’s some grief there, because what you want and what the world can give is not always the same thing. But if you know what you want—if you can name it and see it and understand it—you’re several steps closer to making it happen. One choice at a time.