|
This week, I’ve had a surprising number of conversations with friends about the same word.
Not a glamorous word. Not a buzzy one.
A quiet, slightly academic word that doesn’t trend on Instagram.
Agency.
It came up over coffee. Over long walks. In the margins of conversations that were supposedly about something else. Work. Kids. Aging parents. Career detours. The state of the world. Somewhere in the middle of all of it, the same idea kept surfacing.
How are we driving our own lives - especially once the noise of other people’s opinions fades.
I’ve been thinking about this partly because I’ve spent the last fifteen years teaching post-secondary students. Which means I’ve spent most of my working life in close proximity to people aged 18 to 24 and watched how they have changed as a generation over time. I’ve watched entire cohorts move through early adulthood. I’ve seen how they talk about work, power, success, failure, systems, opportunity.
I’ve watched the language shift.
The posture shift.
And partly because I have two children who are now almost 20 and 22 (as of this weekend), both technically adults, which still feels debatable depending on the day and the state of our text thread.
When I think about what I hope they took from home, it isn’t confidence. Or ambition. Or even resilience, which feels like it’s been overworked as a concept and badly in need of a sabbatical.
It’s agency.
Not in a motivational-poster sense. Not the illusion of total control. Just the quieter understanding that you are not only acted upon. That even inside constraints, expectations, diagnoses, institutions, algorithms, family histories and economic realities, you still have choices.
You still have responses.
You still have a move.
What I’ve noticed, both in my classrooms and more broadly, is not a lack of intelligence or awareness. Quite the opposite. This generation understands context better than any before it. They are exquisitely fluent in systems. They can name the forces shaping them with precision. They know what’s broken. They know what’s unfair. They know what’s stacked.
But sometimes, somewhere along the way, the sense of personal leverage feels thinner.
There’s a lot of language around what is happening to us. Less around what we can do next.
This isn’t a complaint. It’s an observation. And it’s one I keep circling back to because agency doesn’t usually arrive through a lecture or a lesson plan. It arrives through experience. Through necessity. Through small moments where you realize that waiting isn’t helping and doing something might.
Often, it’s not dramatic.
It’s making the phone call you don’t want to make.
Asking the question you’re worried will sound stupid.
Leaving the thing that isn’t working.
Staying longer than you planned.
Changing your mind.
Trying again, quietly, without telling anyone.
When I think back on my own life, I don’t remember being explicitly taught agency. I don’t remember a moment where someone sat me down and explained it. I remember moments where it was required.
Where no one was coming.
Where the situation wasn’t ideal.
Where acting was imperfect but necessary.
That’s usually how it shows up.
So lately, as this word keeps surfacing, I’ve been asking a different question in conversations. Not as a test. Not as a thesis. Just as a genuine point of curiosity.
Where did you first learn the power of agency?
Not who gave it to you.
Not which book unlocked it.
But when you realized you could act.
The answers are rarely neat. They’re often small. Personal. Unimpressive on paper. And yet, they’re the moments people return to. The moments where something quietly shifted.
As my kids make their way into the world, this is the thing I keep hoping they carry with them. Not certainty. Not fearlessness. Just the belief that they are not stuck. That even when the options aren’t great, there is still a choice to be made.
I’m curious where that lesson first found you.
— Danielle
The Midlife Syllabus
Lesson #10:
Agency: knowing where you still have a move, even when the board is crowded.
Beauty, Grace & Daily Artistry
A small, imperfect pleasure:
When we were in Europe this summer, I bought a small tube of face cream and used it the entire trip. It lived in my bag, went everywhere with me, and became part of the rhythm of those days.
Right before we left, once I realized we’d be checking a bag for the trip home, I ran out and bought a larger tube. Practical. Sensible. Very me.
Now, every time I open it, I’m pulled straight back to that summer. Mornings and evenings. Hotel bathrooms and borrowed light. The quiet luxury of being elsewhere, with nowhere urgent to be.
I forget sometimes how powerful scent is. How quickly it can collapse time. How something so small can hold so much.
A reminder that beauty isn’t always big or dramatic. Sometimes it’s a smell, a habit, a tiny daily ritual that keeps a memory close.
What I'm Reading, Watching or Listening to
Watching
Palm Royale: I think Kristen Wiig might be one of the most fun humans alive. Pair her with late-60s, wildly over-the-top fashion, country club drama, Palm Beach excess, and an all-star cast, and I’m completely in.
It’s glossy, ridiculous, and self-aware in the best way. A perfect watch when you want something stylish, slightly unhinged, and utterly committed to the bit.
» Watch it
This Week on the Blog
You don’t need a fresh start. You need a soft landing.
And maybe some toast. The real kind. With butter.
⟶Read more
|
