The pen hovered over the fifth column, a small bead of sweat tracing a path down Ian S.’s temple. Five-year plan. Each quarter parsed, each variable analyzed, every conceivable risk mitigated down to a probability of 0.009. His team, a regiment of diligent supply chain analysts, prided themselves on this rigor, this fortress of foresight. Yet, his gaze kept drifting to the tiny, innocuous icon on his second monitor: a virtual roulette wheel, a game of pure, unadulterated chance, promising nothing but the thrill of the unknown.
Why did that feel like a transgression?
We’ve built a world that actively shames luck. To admit that fortune played a hand in your success is often met with a subtle, almost imperceptible scoff. It diminishes your effort, your skill, your undeniable genius. Our narratives celebrate the self-made, the grinders, the architects of their own destiny. We worship the predictive algorithm, the life hack, the 9-step plan to guaranteed triumph. To surrender to the capriciousness of chance, even in leisure, feels irresponsible, almost morally lax. It implies a lack of control, and control, in our hyper-optimized reality, is the ultimate currency. We cling to it with the ferocity of a drowning man grasping for a sliver of driftwood, even when we know, deep down, the ocean is vast and indifferent.
The Illusion of Control
Ian knew this better than most. His career was a testament to meticulousness. He’d navigated a complex global network, foreseeing geopolitical tremors and









