If you just hustled hard enough, stayed disciplined long enough, and played the right game… you could control where life took you. That the outcomes were all on you.

But that’s not the truth.

You can take care of your body, make smart decisions, do everything “right” — and still walk outside and get hit by a car.

Control? That’s a myth we tell ourselves to feel safe.

Lately, I’ve come to believe something much deeper:
God is in control. Not me. Not you.

And honestly, that realization has brought more peace than any win I’ve had in business.

When I look at the people in my life today — some of whom I’ve known since childhood, people who’ve drifted in and out over the years — I don’t think that’s coincidence. I think that’s placement. That’s God’s hand, not random chance.

I also know I played a part in pushing some of them away.

There was a long stretch of my life where I didn’t know who I was.
I was numb. Self-absorbed. Buried under pain I didn’t know how to name.
And when you never learn how to process pain… it eventually finds its own outlet.

For me, that outlet became heroin.

It silenced everything I didn’t know how to face.
But that silence came with a cost.

Heroin led to homelessness. Homelessness led to crime. Crime led to jail.
And then came the overdoses. The detoxes. The shame. The cycle.

It looked like this:

Heroin
→ Rehab
→ Clean for a bit
→ Relapse
→ Jail
→ Clean for a bit
→ Relapse
→ Jail again
→ Rehab again
→ Repeat

Not because I wanted to be stuck. But because I didn’t know how to get free.

And I’m not here to pitch you the recovery program path. I know that works for a lot of people — it just wasn’t what saved me.

Because the truth is, this wasn’t about heroin.
It was about hurt. Unprocessed, unspoken, unresolved hurt.

You can’t become someone you’ve never seen modeled.
You can’t act whole when you’ve only ever been handed broken pieces.

And for most of my life, I didn’t know what it meant to be a man — to be gentle, to be present, to be trustworthy. I had to relearn everything from the ground up.

Over the last few years — and after more than a decade clean — I’ve done the hard work.
I’ve helped build an 8-figure logistics business.
I’m a husband. A father. A friend. A contributor.
But more importantly… I’m becoming someone I no longer need to run from.

And yet, even with all that, I still have days where I wonder:

“God, what am I doing here?”

That question used to torment me.
Now, it just reminds me to surrender again.

Because I finally understand this:

My job is not to control the outcome.
My job is to walk in obedience — one step at a time.
To follow the path even when I can’t see where it’s leading.
To trust that if I’m still here, He’s still working.

So no — I don’t believe in control anymore.

I believe in calling.
I believe in purpose.
I believe in a God who writes stories better than we ever could.

If you’re still gripping the wheel, I’ll just say this:

Maybe the anxiety isn’t from being off track —
Maybe it’s from trying to drive a life you were never meant to steer.

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