Cultivating Agency

I remember the day I discovered just how elastic the world could be—how the “shoulds” and “defaults” we treat as laws are often no more than polite (and sometimes misguided) suggestions. I was timid undergrad who had read enough papers about the subject I wanted to study and grown frustrated enough by emails that went nowhere. So I decided, on a whim, to cast my net wider: I wrote a heartfelt (but meticulous) cold email to a research professor in Singapore, telling him exactly why I loved his work, exactly what questions kept me awake at night, and exactly why I thought I could contribute. As you might guess from the fact that I’m writing this essay, it paid off. More than that, it revealed the fine line between passively accepting the circumstances around me and stepping forward—like an actor who chooses to break the fourth wall and enter the audience’s space. That summer, I found myself at the National University of Singapore (NUS), researching a topic I never dreamed I’d actually get to study in a cutting edge lab. There I was, an accidental protagonist in my own narrative.

Ever since, I’ve been obsessed with the notion of agency—this intagible quality that propels certain individuals to rewrite(or sometimes scribble irreverently all over) the standard scripts of life. I used to define “agency” loosely as “the courage to be different.” But that never fully satisfied me because on any given day, there are plently of weird or eccentric people who are no closer to living in alignment with their innermost values and ambitions. So I set out to refine my definition. Here’s what I’ve arrived at, at least for now: Agency is about having an accurate map of your inner world and the external world—so that you can navigate effectively in situations where they overlap in generative ways. That means it’s not enough to just do the unusual thing—you have to do the unusual thing strategically, in service of your aims.

On Mapping Inner and Outer Worlds

We rely on maps (both literal and metaphorical) to help us move from one place to another without getting painfully lost. The same principle applies to the territories of our minds and societies. The first step in building agency is realizing you have a map in the first place—and that the map can be changed if it isn’t serving you. As Nietzche once said, “No price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself.” The catch is that you can’t fully own yourself—your hopes, your dreams, your heartbreaks, your failings—if you don’t notice the territory you’re standing in. Too many of us cede the job of noticing the world around us. We let parents, teachers, or a random career blog define our coordinates. If you let others do your noticing for you, your own map never really forms. And when the time comes to interpret a new landscape, you are at a loss.

This is where intellect meets emotion: a strange interplay of careful observation and deep self-inquiry. If you spend too much time externalizing(collecting the “best practices” of everyone around you), your sense of self becomes dangerously thin. If you retreat too deeply into self-relection, you risk losing the tether that connects you to real constraints and real opportunities. Agency emergeces somewhere in the middle, when the inner landscape of your desires and values lines up agianst the outer terrain of real possibilities—and you discover points of alignment.

Why Planning Is So Fricking Hard

Planning (the kind that goes beyond “what do i have for lunch?”) is cognitively taxing. On some level, every single complicated plan we make is a bet on an uncertain future. We gather data, weigh probabilities, imagine best and worst-case scenarios—but in truth, we are never sure. That’s partly why so many people pick “safe” or widely tried-and-true paths. If I decide I want to be a software engineer or go to grad school, the path is well-lit by hundreds of thousands of travelers ahead of me. Yes, it might not lead me to anything remarkable, but it probably won’t lead me to complete personal or financial ruin either (though obviously nothing is guaranteed). This is like traveling via the well known highways—low risk, low cognitive load.

People who exhibit agency are more willing to carve trails or at least wander off-road. They do more custom “thinking” about their next steps. Their signature is the refusal to simply follow the plan that’s been mass-produced. So yes, they often appear weird by mainstream standards—like a startup foundre who, decades ago, dropped out of college before it was a glamorized narrative, or the traveling street musician who manages to build a niche career out of nowhere. The willingness to chart your own path is indeed correlated with a capacity to be “odd”, but that’s an outcomes, not the fundamental principle. The fundamental principle is that you’re trying to accomplish a goal as strategically as possible—not that you are on a crusade to break norms.

Risk, Reputation, and Thick Skin

Here’s a harsh truth: when you deviate from widely accepted norms—when your plan diverges significantly from what your friends, relatives, or neighbors might expect—you pay a certain cost. At first, it’s mostly social friction: disapproval, confusion, or the dreaded “Aren’t you worried that—?” that invites your worst anxities to the table. If your plan fails, you often forfeit the pity or the empathy that might have been extended if you’d followed the normal path. After all, you could have played it safe. Instead, you gambled; the world loves a winner, but it also loves to scold a loser.

This social dimension is not trivial—it can be the difference between receiving a patient ear and being brushed off as an eccentric. Agentic individuals learn to accept these risks, or at least develop the resilience to face them. They remain open to feedback where it matters, but also cultivate something akin to stoicism about the intagible judgments cast by others. (I like Brené Brown phrases it: “If you’re not in the arena also getting your ass kicked, I’m not interested in your feedback.”)

So does that mean you have to be indifferent to status or actively court a contrarian reputation? Not exactly. You can care abbout how you’re perceived and still act with agency. The difference is that the opinions of others dont’ form the bedrock of your decision-making process. You incorporate them where logically or emotionally relevant, but the final call is guided by your own map of your inner and outer worlds—and the synergy between the two.

The Ingredients of Agency

In my experience, one of the simplest initial heuristics for whether someone has higher or lower agency is their relationship to possibility. Are they someone who sees the world through the lens of “there could be so much more” or do they see it as “I’ll just follow the road and eventually it leads somewhere decent”?

1. They believe more is possible. This might stemp from noticing inefficiencies or wonders in the world. It might come from a near-obsessive curiosity or a restless spirit that can’t quite accept “this is all there is.” They suspect there could be better outcomes than the standard trajectory.
2. Thye have something to protect. This can be an aspiration, a value, or an important person in their life. It’s a clarifying force that helps them push through the anxiety inherent in forging a path. If you have a beloved passion, or you’re fighting for someone else’s well-being, you’re more compelled to keep going when the friction ramps up.
3. They have an internal locus of control. That is, they believe their actions meaninfully influence the outcomes around them. They don’t blame “fate” for everything, even when life is undeniably shaped by luck. They’re conviced—maybe unreasonably so—that they can shape their circumstances if they just try hard or cleverly enough.
4. They’re (often) conscientious. This doesn’t mean “clean your room,” but it does suggest a certain discipline or a capacity to follow through. You rarely see flightly folks (who abandon every plan at the first sign of challenge) exhibit sustained agency. You need stamina and some measure of consistency to re-check your map and adjust your route accordingly.
5. They can face social opprobrium. Because forging new paths invites scrutiny or confusion from the community, people with higher agency typically have to endure sideways glances—or even direct censure—for extended periods. If your temperament can’t handle other people’s skepticism, it’s much harder to keep forging your own route.

We could add more to the list—like creativity, optimism, or problem-solving skill—but those five are the big ones I keep stumbling across in stories of agentic behavior. Think about the times you’ve chosen to deviate from the default path: chances are, a few of these attributes were swirling around in your mind or your environment, propelling you forward.

The Allure of Defaults (and the Friction in Resisting Them)

At times, I find it maddening how easy it is to drift onto well-worn tracks and let the momentum carry me. The default track of “go to college, get an internship, climb the ladder” is not inherently evil, of course. But if you didn’t ask yourself whether it aligns with your deeper goals, it’s easy to wake up one day feeling strangely absent from your own life—like your name in on the door, your face is in the ID photo, but your soul never quite agreed to walk into that building.

For me, there have been many isntances where the defaults seemed comfortable—like warm, well-worn slippers. I had a chance to stay at a predictable job after my time in Singapore. I almost did. The benefits were clear: stable environment, predictable growth, a story my family back home would understand. But I also had this gnawing sense I was ignoring bigger possibilities. I wanted to do something more experimental, more uncertain, and (to be honest) more terrifying. My inner map was pointing me toward unknown territory. And yes, there was friction—no road signs, no guarantees, and the people who loved me were worried. To move forward was to say “I’m ignoring your worry for the sake of something I can’t properly articulate yet.” That alone was heartbreakingly difficult.

But friction, by nature, is evidence of motion. If you feel no friction at all, you’re likely standing still—or passively treading a path that’s so deeply worn you might not notice the movement. So I’ve come to see friction as necessary and even instructive, as it reveals where your personal map rubs against widely held beliefs. If your aims is to harnes your own sense of agency, you must embrace friction now and then. Without it, how can you be sure you’re actually forging your own path?

When Agency Is Uncommon

We love to celebrate the “prodigies,” the “mavericks,” the “Jobs and Gates” of the world—but ironically, there’s not a lot of consistent social infrastructure that nutures more agentic thinking at scale. We have cultural scripts that claim to champion creativity and independence, yet the moment someone steps too far away from accepted roads, they’re typically met with disapproval or, at best, confusion. So if you see an environment that rewards blind conformity, is it any wonder that high-agenct approaches are relatively rare?

Moreover, imitation is a surprisingly powerful survival tactic. Our ancestors learned from one another precisely so they didn’t have to attempt every innovation from scratch. Following a high-traffic route is, in many ways, “safe enough.” People aren’t necessarily lazy or lacking imagination for leaning on the blueprint. They might just be risk-averse—and for good reason. The cost of failure can be catastrophic, especially in societies with a fragile social safety net. Why gamble with your entire life?

The short answer: you might not. Or you might gamble very selectively. This is why agency often emerges among those who (1) have resources or supportive networks that cushion the blow of a potential failure, (2) have a powerful internal impetus—like a moral calling or an obsessive curiosity that simply won’t let them rest, or (3) have enough audacity or grit that the social risk pales in comparison to the existential risk of not trying.

How to Cultivate Agency Without Turning Your Life Upside Down I get it—you might be thinking, “Sure, but do I have to drop out of college, risk my savings, or move to a new country just to be an agentic person?” My own experience says no. Here are some smaller steps that help me dial up my sense of self-determination in everyday life (though I hesitate to call them “tips,” because what do I really know?):

Start with mini-experiments. For instance, if you suspect you might enjoy painting, buy a small set of supplies and try it for a week, ignoring any fear that you’re “not good enough.” The key is that you decided—intentionally—that painting was worth exploring.

Practice micro-honesty. Next time someone proposes something you’re not excited about (or you want to do something else), voice your preference gently but clearly. It’s a small way of exercising your own sense of control. Over time, micro-honesty teaches you to trust yourself.

Seek friction in safe contexts. If you always hold your tongue in group discussions, speak up—even if it means introducing a dissenting viewpoint. Doing this in environments with minimal consequences, like a book club or a casual meet-up, helps you practice risk-taking in a relatively safe bubble.

Refine your “inner map.” Journal, talk to friends, or do that old trick where you email yourself a letter describing your hopes and fears. The point is to become intimately acquainted with what you actually want. Because if you’re unclear about your desires, you’ll default to someone else’s blueprint.

Recognize that small, agentic choices add up. Sometimes we wait for the perfect moment to show up in neon lights—“THIS IS YOUR DESTINY.” More often, agency is cultivated in the routine, daily act of noticing your environment, noticing your impulses, and making a choice that aligns with your bigger life direction.

The Under-Discussed Beauty of Chosen Conformity

I don’t think a life is less extraordinary if one chooses to conform in certain areas. Sometimes, assimilation is a wise, strategic piece of the puzzle. If you’re looking to pass, gather resources, or earn legitimacy before a bigger move, blending in can be the stealth approach. The crucial word there is “choose”—did you consciously opt to play along, or did you slip on the mask because it was easier not to think about it?

When I was in Singapore, I often conformed to lab culture (the customs, the unspoken protocols), even though it felt unusual at first. But I saw the strategic value: building trust with colleagues, learning new protocols in a more structured setting, and ensuring the research got done well. That choice ultimately gave me a sense of belonging and credibility that opened more doors. If I’d insisted on being flamboyantly different in every domain, I suspect I would have ended up marginalized or alienated in that environment. In other words, carefully chosen conformity can be an agentic act—a subtle synergy between my inner map (my desire for knowledge) and the external world (the lab’s structure).

Ever since that initial leap into emailing research professors around the world, my life has been shaped by a kind of push-and-pull between default paths and my own irrepressible curiosity. There are days I question which path I should take next: remain comfortably in a system that’s tested and proven, or lunge for the new, half-fuzzy horizon. But I’ve noticed that every major personal leap—like that fateful email to Singapore—happened because I glimpsed a possibility beyond the well-worn path, then decided to trust my ability to navigate it with minimal heartbreak. That, to me, is the essence of agency: seeing the next step in a new light and then stepping toward it with the acceptance that risk and friction are part of the dance.

Oddly enough, I no longer dwell on the question of whether my choices seem “normal” or “weird.” Instead, I keep returning to the question: Do these choices reflect my clearest sense of who I am and how I believe I can contribute? What if there’s an entire dimension of possibility I’ve yet to notice, waiting to be mapped and traversed? Or, in the words of Maya Angelou, “If you’re always trying to be normal, you will never know how amazing you can be.” I suspect the real challenge is to maintain a flexible (but anchored) self-awareness so that our maps remain alive to new data, new horizons. The measure of agency isn’t an absolute metric, but more like a subtle interplay of knowledge, risk, aspiration, and grit—a dance we shape with every decision.

And maybe that’s how we should leave it: uncertain, yet unstoppable. I doubt I’ll ever fully “arrive” at a state of perfect agency—circumstances change, I change. But each time I come to a fork in the road (or find the road itself dissolves under my feet), I feel that familiar tingle: the swirl of possibility meeting responsibility, coalescing into a fleeting moment of clarity. My personal map grows more detailed, even as the territory expands. Maybe that’s the best we can hope for, and maybe that’s good enough.