Here’s a thought: maybe the greatest lie we tell ourselves is that we’re in control. We cling to it like a life raft, convincing ourselves that every decision, every move, is ours alone. But the truth? The truth is slipperier than that. Control is rarely ours. It’s a mirage, a story we tell ourselves to make sense of the chaos.

Take tonight. I like to think I was orchestrating everything, that I was the quiet architect of the mood, the moment, the outcome. I set the stage, left the cues, pulled the strings. Or so I told myself. The brush of my hand, the knowing smile, the casual comment that lingered a little too long—each one calculated, deliberate.

But was it? Or was I just reacting, shaping my actions around their unspoken cues, their shifting energy? Maybe the power wasn’t mine at all. Maybe I was just another actor in their script, fooling myself into believing I was the playwright.

It’s a comfortable delusion, isn’t it? To think we’re the ones in control. It lets us feel safe, powerful, as if the world bends to our will. But more often than not, we’re just dancing to a rhythm we didn’t create, following steps someone else laid out long before we arrived.

Even in relationships, where power feels tangible, it’s more fluid than we’d like to admit. I told myself tonight’s outcome was mine, that I’d steered the ship without ever gripping the wheel. But who’s to say they weren’t doing the same? Who’s to say they weren’t the ones leading, letting me believe I was in charge?

Control, after all, is the ultimate illusion. We shape our actions around each other, responding to needs, desires, fears. We convince ourselves that the game is ours to play, even as we’re being played.

Tomorrow, I’ll tell myself the same comforting story, that I’m the one who bends the moment to my will. But deep down, I know better. Control is a shared fiction, a tale we tell ourselves to feel less adrift in a world that rarely listens to what we want.

And maybe that’s okay. Maybe the beauty isn’t in owning the power but in believing, however briefly, that it was ours to begin with. Delusions, after all, have a way of keeping us afloat.