An open letter to the unfulfilled: you were born free—here’s how to reclaim your agency in a world that wants to keep you in chains.

I’m writing this as an invitation, a rallying cry, and perhaps a gentle provocation. It’s addressed to anyone who feels that the life they’re leading doesn’t line up with the freedom they sense they deserve. I’ve seen it in countless conversations, those passing admissions of “I’m just biding my time here” and “I feel stuck, but what can I do?” We tell ourselves it’s normal to wait for weekends, to clock in and out mechanically, to funnel our best thinking into tasks we don’t really care about. Maybe you don’t believe you have a choice, or you believe now isn’t the right time to choose differently. I’m here to question that. I’m here to remind you—and myself—that we do have a choice. And that by refusing to exercise it, we risk losing a part of our humanity.

Jean-Jacques Rousseau famously declared, “Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains.” At first glance, that line sounds dramatic, conjuring images of tyrants and shackles. Yet it’s oddly fitting for the modern corporate landscape. We’re not talking about despots in velvet capes; we’re talking about subtle structures of power that shape our daily routines. We’re not forcibly imprisoned, but as we navigate performance metrics, corporate hierarchies, and the endless chase of material comforts, it’s easy to feel like our autonomy is eroding. The golden handcuffs may be polished to a shine, but they’re still handcuffs.

This isn’t to say there’s a grand conspiracy. Indeed, many historical philosophers suggest that oppressive systems can flourish without a puppet master. Michel Foucault pointed out that power often flows through institutions in ways that are both invisible and pervasive. Once we internalize the norms—workplace etiquette, job titles, productivity quotas—those norms become self-reinforcing. We no longer need an overseer cracking a whip. We show up at the appointed time, we answer our emails promptly, we measure our days by how efficiently we meet someone else’s objectives. Somewhere along the line, that abstract “someone else” replaced our own guiding vision.

You might be asking, “So, do I just quit my job and live in a cabin?” Not necessarily. This isn’t a manifesto on unplugging from society. It’s a call to examine the forces that shape your choices—and to reclaim your agency from them. The first step is awareness: understanding that your fear of stepping away may be stoked by illusions of stability. As I’ve mentioned before, the paycheck and the benefits often feel like a safety net. But how many stories have we heard of mass layoffs or unforeseen company collapses? The “safe path” can become dangerous the moment the company’s priorities shift. Once we recognize that security is partly a social construct, an agreement we make with large institutions, we can weigh it more rationally against the cost of stifling our creative spark.

The second step is remembering that you are, by nature, an agent. Philosophers from Søren Kierkegaard to Jean-Paul Sartre insisted that humans are “condemned to be free”—that is, even if the path feels predetermined, we still have the capacity to choose how we respond. Living as if we’re powerless is a misalignment with our very condition. Yes, we often have constraints: financial obligations, family needs, health considerations. But even within those constraints, we retain a measure of sovereignty over our direction. The question is whether we’re willing to exercise that sovereignty—and accept the risk and responsibility that come with it.

How do rulers historically take away our agency? They typically do it by imposing fear. Fear of punishment, fear of social exclusion, fear of the unknown. Modern workplaces have, in some ways, replicated that dynamic through more refined mechanisms. Instead of a sword at our backs, we have the fear of losing our status, our professional identity, our lifestyle. No official stands up and commands, “You must stay here or else.” Instead, the threatened punishment is often intangible—an amorphous sense that your life will unravel if you stop feeding the machine. Ironically, as you lean harder into meeting these external demands, you become more reliant on them for validation.

Niccolò Machiavelli advised rulers to be both loved and feared. That dynamic is still at play. We love the sense of belonging and the rewards for a job well done. We fear falling out of favor, losing the stability or recognition that corporate life seems to provide. So, we make peace with the small humiliations—the stifled opinions in meetings, the creative ideas we shelve because they don’t fit the company’s immediate objectives. Each compromise may feel trivial in isolation, but cumulatively they can rob us of a sense of ownership over our own lives.

This is not a condemnation of corporate structures outright. They play a critical role in the economy, providing jobs, goods, and services on a scale that would be impossible otherwise. The real issue arises when we fail to question whether these structures enhance or undermine our personal sense of purpose. If the corporate environment genuinely aligns with your goals, your values, and your thirst for creation, by all means, remain within it—help shape it from the inside. But if a part of you knows you’re merely existing there, that’s your invitation to re-evaluate.

A call to arms doesn’t necessarily mean storming the gates. Sometimes it means asking a series of questions that, taken together, function like a spotlight on your own inertia:

1. Who benefits from my current arrangement? Are you serving your own growth and fulfillment, or are you enabling a system that drains more from you than it gives?
2. What do I believe about my capacity for change? If you feel powerless, can you recall a time you took decisive action? Can you regain that mindset?
3. Is fear of loss keeping me here? What exactly do you think you’ll lose? Job security? Social standing? And how might these fears be exaggerating the actual risk?
4. What does “freedom” look like in my life? Is it a certain schedule, a different career path, or a creative pursuit you’ve neglected?

Hannah Arendt wrote about the “banality of evil,” highlighting how ordinary people can become complicit in harmful systems simply by following orders without moral reflection. While we might not equate day-to-day corporate tasks with overt wrongdoing, there’s a cautionary parallel: it’s easy to disconnect from the bigger picture of how your energies are used. If you never ask “why,” if you never question whether your creative gifts are being put to meaningful use, you risk enabling a cycle that erodes your sense of self. The “evil” here might just be the slow death of your uniqueness, your ability to influence the world according to your own vision.

Some might argue this is a privileged perspective. In many ways, it can be. Not everyone has the luxury to evaluate corporate life as a mere option—some are in survival mode, happy to have employment at all. But even those fighting to make ends meet deserve a sense of ownership over their decisions. Being aware of these hidden levers of control can help anyone, at any income level, cultivate more agency within their circumstances. It might mean shifting to a role that offers more latitude, negotiating for better conditions, or even planning an exit strategy over a realistic timeline.

Here’s the paradox: exercising your freedom can feel terrifying, precisely because it removes the comforting illusions we’ve clung to. If we claim our power, we can no longer blame everything on “the system.” That’s the essence of existential freedom. Once you recognize it, you shoulder the burden of shaping your own destiny. But that same responsibility also unlocks your potential for genuine fulfillment. When you stop seeing your corporation, your boss, or your paycheck as the final arbiters of your worth, you start to see possibilities you overlooked.

Think back to childhood, when your imagination roamed freely, unconstrained by forms or metrics. Is it naive to yearn for some of that spirit now? Perhaps. But if you’re reading this, then on some level you suspect that naive might be exactly what our over-systematized world needs more of. Creative leaps often come from unbounded thinking. By reclaiming a bit of that imaginative space—by allowing yourself the audacity to believe in your unfulfilled visions—you edge closer to living with intention, rather than defaulting to an inherited script.

This open letter is my way of saying I see you. I see the tension in your daily life: the paycheck is good, your colleagues are decent people, and your LinkedIn profile gleams. And yet, there’s that nagging voice inside, asking “Is this all there is?” Like any invitation, you’re free to decline. You can stay where you are if you’ve decided it truly satisfies you. But if you feel that restlessness, that sense that your day-to-day is missing the direct imprint of your genius, then perhaps you already know it’s time to move.

What does moving look like? For some, it’s a radical departure—launching a startup or taking time off to write a book. For others, it’s a series of smaller steps: shifting your role to tap into untapped talents, renegotiating boundaries so you have time for personal passions, or actively seeking a new environment that values and amplifies your creative impulses. Whatever it is, the key is to do it consciously. Your rebellion against the system doesn’t have to be loud; it just has to be true to you.

The historical record is filled with revolutionaries who recognized that true power lies in our collective willingness to say “enough.” While those struggles often played out on national or global stages, there’s a parallel in our personal revolutions. Each time an individual breaks from a cycle of passivity, each time we assert that our labor and creativity belong first and foremost to us, we chip away at a culture that wants to render us docile. It’s not a single cataclysmic event, but a myriad of daily choices.

I won’t pretend any of this is easy. It’s far simpler to remain in familiar routines, especially when those around us reaffirm that this is the best (or only) way to live. But if history teaches us anything, it’s that illusions can only sustain themselves for so long before reality intrudes. Our reality is that we have one life to shape, and the clock is ticking. Waking up to our agency may be disorienting, but it’s also a profound relief.

So, consider this your open letter, your call to arms, your permission slip—whatever form resonates with you. You are not owned by your cubicle or your job description or your carefully negotiated benefits package. Rulers throughout history have confiscated freedom by exploiting fear and complacency, but they’ve never fully extinguished the human capacity to choose. You still hold that capacity, right now, in this moment.

For some, reading these words might be enough to spark a fresh perspective. For others, it might be the final push to make a change you’ve been considering for months or even years. Wherever you stand, know that your freedom isn’t an abstract ideal. It’s practical, tangible, and actionable. It’s there when you decide to exercise it, and it’s there when you choose your response to any external pressure. Rousseau’s chains need not be your fate, and Sartre’s “condemnation” to freedom is actually the greatest blessing we have.

If you relate to any of this, if you feel that little flicker of excitement (or fear) in your gut right now, take it as a sign that your agency is stirring, reminding you it exists. Harness it. Acknowledge it. Let it guide you to ask deeper questions about the life you’re living and the life you want to live. The system may be vast, but it isn’t absolute—it’s partly constructed from the compliance of those within it. Withdraw your compliance where it stifles you, channel it where it liberates you, and watch as your sense of freedom expands.

You were born free. And you remain free, even if the world attempts to confine you with its unspoken assumptions and hidden structures. The choice to reclaim that freedom is yours to make, moment by moment. The call is here, written on this page. I hope you’ll answer it—if not today, then someday soon, when you’re ready to take your rightful place as the conscious architect of your own life.