Even as the world convulses—groups turning on each other, billionaires shaking every last penny from the pockets of the 99%—I am at peace. I take a deep breath and realize my life is amazing. I have a loving wife who has held my hand through every difficulty. I’m dada to a smart, healthy, hilarious little girl who is, without question, the best thing that has ever happened to me. We live in a gorgeous home. It’s safe. It’s quiet. And it gives me the space to think, create, and grow. I’m grateful. I’m thankful. And more than that—I know I’m lucky.
And that’s the thought that loops back, again and again: I am lucky. Not deserving. Not better. Just lucky.
This clarity—this peace I feel—it doesn’t come from ignoring the chaos of the world. It comes from understanding something deeper about it. Something that stripped away the old moral frameworks I used to carry: determinism is real.
We are all on tracks. None of us laid the rails. No one chose their DNA, their childhood, their trauma, or their timing. We don’t even get to choose the kind of person who would make better choices. It’s all causality, all the way down.
And once you see that—really see that—something fundamental shifts. Empathy opens up in all directions. You stop asking, “Why don’t they just…?” Because you understand: they can’t. They were set on a track. Just like I was. Just like you were.
Determinism isn’t fatalism—it doesn’t mean nothing matters. It means everything matters precisely because none of us authored ourselves. Determinism doesn’t erase responsibility—it reframes it. Responsibility isn’t about punishment for choices people couldn’t make; it’s about shaping the conditions that make better outcomes inevitable.
And once you see how little anyone authors their own story, it becomes impossible not to question the stories our society tells about success and failure.
And this is where it gets political. The myth of free will—especially the American version—is one of the most destructive beliefs we carry. It’s the engine behind cruelty dressed up as meritocracy. It’s what tells people that if someone is struggling, it’s their own fault. It’s what convinces those who succeed that they did it all on their own—and worse, that they deserve more than those who didn’t.
Deservedness is the lie that turns luck into entitlement and suffering into punishment.
If we accepted determinism—not as resignation, but as reality—our policies would change overnight. Prisons would become spaces of rehabilitation, not retribution. Poverty would be met with systemic support, not moral judgment. Education and healthcare would be universal, because everyone would finally understand: you’re not better—just luckier.
But because the myth persists, we build systems on punishment, praise, and presumed autonomy. And it’s killing us.
I don’t write this to signal virtue or to cast blame. I write this because I’m grateful—and because that gratitude wakes me up to the world beyond my bubble. I didn’t earn this life. I didn’t deserve my partner, my daughter, my peace.
But I have them. And because I have them, I want to build a world where more people do too. Not because they “worked hard.” Not because they “made the right choices.” But because we finally saw through the lie.
There but for the grace of causality go I.