CHOICE

Choice: The Illusion of Choice and the Freedom of Surrender

I spent the better part of my early years believing I was in control. That I made decisions because I decided to. That my will, my discipline, my grit forged the life I built and bore the blame for the parts that crumbled. In the years since, through sobriety, spiritual seeking, years of massage therapy, bodywork, and supporting athletes at their most exposed and exhausted, I’ve come to realize how much of what we call “choice” isn’t a choice at all.

The latest research in neuroscience agrees. It turns out that our brains, that elegant gray circuitry of nerves and memories, make decisions milliseconds before our conscious mind becomes aware of them. The neurons fire, the subconscious pulls strings based on millions of old patterns, and by the time you think, I’m going to take that road today instead of this one,the decision’s already been made. Your conscious mind is simply rationalizing the outcome.

To some, this might sound bleak. But I’ve found something beautiful in it.

At SAGmonkey, whether we’re chasing bikes through mountain passes, working the knots out of overworked bodies, or guiding people toward wellness beyond what’s printed on a business card, the heart of the work is awareness. Not control. Not domination of mind over body. But a surrender to the truth of what’s happening inside you, without judgment.

Your Body Already Knows

The body is not a machine to be commanded. It’s an ecosystem. It remembers what the conscious mind forgets. Trauma stored in the hips, grief clutched in the chest, old guilt gripped in the jaw. When I place my hands on someone’s back or stretch a hamstring that’s been guarding an old injury, I’m not just moving muscle fibers. I’m speaking directly to a body that made decisions long before the person on my table ever had a chance to weigh in.

And if free will is an illusion, as modern science increasingly suggests, that doesn’t mean we’re powerless. It means we have a different kind of power: the power to pay attention. To notice what arises. To meet the moment as it is, instead of clinging to the fantasy of authorship over everything we think and feel.

The Freedom in Letting Go

I used to believe awareness meant control. If I could catch myself before I acted on a destructive impulse or said something sharp, that was mastery. But what I’ve learned through years of practice is that the deepest peace comes not from trying to control the thought, but from witnessing it without attachment.

The brain will offer its old scripts. The body will flinch the way it always has. The heart will break open and close again. None of this is a personal failing. It’s the nature of being human.

When we stop trying to dominate our experience, and instead bring curiosity to it, something shifts. In that space between stimulus and response, the space Viktor Frankl famously wrote about, we find freedom. Not freedom from our biology, but freedom with it. The ability to say, Ah, there’s that old fear again. I see you. You can stay as long as you need.

From the Trailhead to the Treatment Table

I see this every time I’m on a mountain pass with a rider whose legs have given out, but whose pride won’t let them stop. Or in a treatment room with a client whose back pain has lingered since a father’s absence, long buried in the body’s story. The illusion of free will would have them believe they can simply decide to feel better, to push harder, to let go.

But the deeper work happens when they stop pushing. When the athlete says, I need a minute. When the client lets the tears come without knowing why. In those moments, when the conscious mind steps aside, the body begins to heal itself.

The Real Practice

Whether you find yourself at a SAGmonkey recovery tent, on a massage table, or alone in your living room, the practice is the same: awareness without ownership. Not every thought belongs to you. Not every sensation requires a story. The mind will fire its synapses. The body will whisper its old poems. Your job is simply to notice.

And when you do, when you let go of the need to control what was never fully yours, you’ll discover a new kind of freedom. One that doesn’t live in the myth of perfect discipline, but in the quiet, humble act of being exactly where you are.

That’s where we meet ourselves. That’s where we begin again.