Letting Go: The Most Powerful Form of Control | #56

On Monday, I ran an in-person masterclass for twenty-four senior leaders. In the past, I would’ve obsessed over every detail, chasing perfection until I was drained. But something had shifted.

This time, I let go. Not out of apathy but from a growing sense of trust, in myself. I didn’t grip the schedule or try to force outcomes. Ironically, it was the least organised session I’ve run. They overran by 90 mins so we started extremely late. The agenda went out the window. And yet, it flowed.

I walked into a room of people older than me, some the age of my parents. I was told they were not good at keeping their attention and they didn’t hide when they were checked out. But I felt grounded. I used playful videos I’d made in Sora to break the ice. I introduced myself casually, then invited them in: “This isn’t a day of death-by-PowerPoint. It’s for creating, debating, and challenging ideas together.”

In that moment, I didn’t feel the need to prove anything. I wasn’t bigger than the room, and I wasn’t smaller than it either. I was just with them. I asked everyone to share their names, roles, and how they use AI and I repeated each of their names back. A tiny gesture, but one that shifted the power dynamic completely.

I was the facilitator, yes. But we were co-creating something. Together. As equals.

And it worked. They opened up. They questioned. They challenged. They laughed. We broke for lunch and shared stories over plates and bread. I felt… full. Not exhausted, not depleted, just alive in the work.

I used to leave sessions like this utterly wrecked. I’d give so much of myself, pour every drop into the room, and limp to the finish line. This time? I flew home that evening. I still had energy left for myself.

What changed?

I stopped gripping.

The day ran late. The lunch break doubled. We lost more time than we had. But I flowed with it. I didn’t try to bend time to my will or squeeze the session into a tighter box. I just adapted. Trusted that the most important things would land. And they did.

Here’s the thing no one tells you: letting go is the highest form of control.

Because when you let go, you’re not resisting reality. You’re not clinging to how it should be. You’re not fighting physics. You’re dancing with the moment.

That doesn’t mean you don’t care. It means you care enough to stay present. To stop gripping. To respond instead of react. And that, I’ve learned, is power.

Not the performative kind. The real kind.

The kind that lets you stand in a room full of strangers, 105 minutes behind, and know you’ve got this.