Wild:Philosophy: Does Transformation Require that We Know Where We are Going?

Hello and welcome. You might notice a shift here - wild:health is now wild:philosophy. Thanks to those of you who shared your thoughts on the name, your feedback was very helpful and greatly appreciated.

The change wasn’t made lightly. I’ve been circling around this decision for a while. For those of you who followed me here for a while, you know that the name change to wild:health was only recently, yet, shortly after renaming (actually only a few hours after), I had a growing sense of unease with "health" as the banner under which I explore. I can’t fully explain why, but something about “health” as an aspiring concept has come to feel… well, wrong isn’t quite the word, maybe incomplete, or even subtly misleading in the context of the deeper inquiries that pull me.

It’s not that I believe we shouldn’t strive for health, vitality, or well-being. Of course, we should. Yet, by focusing on "health," or indeed any specific, desired state, I felt I was implicitly defining an end goal. I was sketching a blueprint, saying, in effect, "This is what I want the world to be," or "This is the state we should all aim for."

If I am honest with myself, I don’t know what I ultimately want the world to be. I have hopes, values, and deep-seated desires for less suffering and more flourishing, certainly. But a detailed picture? A final destination? No. Second, this very idea - the assumption that any one person or group can know what’s best for the world and then chart a course towards it - seems utterly, fundamentally flawed. It carries the scent of certainty in a world defined by complexity and unpredictability. It echoes historical attempts to impose singular visions, often with disastrous consequences. It feels… well, hubristic.

So, today - I’ll share about this tensions - of predefining goals, outcomes, or visions. Eventually, these considerations let me to change the name to wild:philosophy.

---

created by author

A core tension, one I feel I’ve been sitting with for years now is this deep tension between visualizing and pursuing a concrete outcome and radically letting go.

The Power (and Peril) of Visualization

On one side of this polarity, we have the power of focused intention, the practice of visualization. You’ll find it recommended in almost any self-help book. We’re encouraged to create vision boards, meticulously cutting out images of our desires. These recommendations are often paired with compelling anecdotes - stories of how the very house someone visualized, down to the precise shape and color of the front door, materialized in their life. The underlying message is: if we only believe in the vision strongly enough, if we hold it firmly and clearly in our mind’s eye, it will become reality. And the corollary, often unspoken but heavily implied, is that if we don’t get what we wanted, it’s simply because our belief wasn't pure enough, our visualization not vivid enough, or our desire not strong enough.

We blame the dreamer.

Now, there is ample research highlighting the potential of visualization, particularly in the world of elite sports. Many athletes are rigorously trained in mentally rehearsing their movements. Studies show that the outcomes for those who engage in this practice are often statistically significantly better. Performance seems enhanced by this mental blueprinting. In their book The Choice Point, Joanna Grover and Jonathan Rhodes (who I recently had the pleasure to talk to), who work with world-class athletes and high performers detail how they use specific visualization techniques not just for skill refinement, but also to motivate individuals, to help them commit to a chosen direction and overcome obstacles mentally before they are encountered physically. Visualization, in this context, seems like a powerful tool for harnessing focus and directing energy.

The Act of Surrender

On the opposite end of this spectrum is the philosophy of letting go.

River Kenna

recently wrote

“The first step to a transformed world (or a transformed life) is a tough one: we have to give up our ideas of what the transformation looks like. To surrender our visions of preferred outcomes. Trust me, whatever actual transformation comes out of living with Reality day by day, it’s going to be much better than whatever plans your current ego has for things. It’s going to make your plans and visions and ideas look childishly and adorably inept, an elementary school art gallery of crayon utopias.”

This deeply resonates with me.

The way I understand letting go isn't merely abandoning plans, it's a deeper surrender.

For those working in the field of complex systems, we might talk about creating conditions for emergence.

Yet, while emergence refrains from holding onto a single, predetermined result, it is still about cultivating something - the right conditions. Letting go, the way I understand it, is about surrendering it all.

Letting go can be seen as the more radical, perhaps even hardcore, version of embracing emergence.

In letting go, there’s a profound act of trust - a deep-seated faith that life, in its inherent wisdom and unfolding mystery, will ultimately be good, or at least, will provide the necessary lessons and experiences for growth, even if they don't match my preconceived notions of good.

My own personal experience leans heavily towards the latter pole, though not without struggle. I've noticed, time and again, that whenever I manage to slip into a genuine flow of trusting life fully - without predefined goals rigidly held, without insistent expectations or detailed, non-negotiable planned outcomes - that is precisely when life feels the most… well, miraculous. It’s not just that unexpected synchronicities seem to occur more frequently, but the entire felt sense of living becomes easier, lighter.

The first time I intentionally let go (is this an oxymoron?), I was in a deep crisis point in my personal life and had absolutely no idea of what to do next. I couldn’t imagine a scenario in which things were going to be okay. So I decided to give up and just let life take over, so to say, the next couple years turned out to be some of the best and most interesting and fun years of my life.

This letting go aligns with insights from many spiritual traditions. Taoism central concept of Wu Wei, for example, is often translated as "effortless action" or "non-doing." Which is not meant to be passivity, but rather acting in harmony with the natural flow of the Tao, the underlying principle of the universe and sensing the currents and moving with them, rather than struggling against them with rigid plans.

In effortless Living, Jason Gregory writes:

“It is not mere passivity, but it is action that seems both effortless and spontaneous because performed “rightly,” in perfect accordance with our nature and with our place in the scheme of things. It is completely free because there is in it no force and no violence. It is not “conditioned” or “limited” by our own individual needs and desires, or even by our own theories and ideas.”

Many non-dual - and new-age - teachings point towards recognizing the illusory nature of the separate self, the ego that constantly strives and plans. When this illusion is seen through, there's a natural relaxation, a falling away of the need to control and manipulate life, replaced by a trust in the larger unfolding.

Process philosophy, particularly the work of Alfred North Whitehead, views reality itself not as a collection of static things, but as a dynamic, unfolding process. Novelty and creativity are inherent to the universe. From this perspective, overly rigid plans can stifle the emergence of the genuinely new. Embracing the process means being open to unexpected turns and co-creating with the unfolding reality. Complexity theory, as mentioned earlier, underscores the limits of prediction in complex adaptive systems (like human societies, ecosystems, or our own lives). Small changes can have disproportionately large effects, making long-term, detailed planning often futile. Instead, adaptive strategies, feedback loops, and fostering resilience become more crucial than rigid blueprints.

It seems that complexity theory, process philosophy and other relational sciences/philosophies confirm what some spiritual traditions have been saying for some millennia.

Ahh, the convergence of science and spirituality…

If it only was so easy.

Persistent Tension: Plan or Surrender?

Photo by Jeremy Thomas on Unsplash

But, as mentioned above, science also says that visualization and planning is what turns things into reality and can make dreams come true.

So which is it?

Despite the profound appeal and experiential validation of letting go, I confess, I have always found these two poles - control and surrender, planning and emergence - to constitute a huge, persistent tension within me. One part of my mind, the pragmatic, perhaps conditioned part, constantly wonders: How can anything meaningful ever get done without making plans? How do complex projects get built? How do societies organize? How do we ensure basic needs are met without foresight and coordination?

Yet, another part of me, the part that has actually lived through my own existence, knows with certainty that I could never have anticipated, let alone planned, many of the greatest gifts, opportunities, and transformations that have occurred in my life. These often arose from unexpected encounters, serendipitous detours, or moments where previous plans spectacularly fell apart. I consistently feel far more attuned to life, more genuinely alive and responsive, when I am navigating based on what’s right here, right in front of me, rather than trying to force reality into the shape of a preconceived plan.

This tension also shows up in my work, particularly in my thinking about what some call "the old and the new paradigm." In many ways, this very struggle is what drove me towards philosophy as a process of inquiry, rather than a fixed set of answers. For a long time, I researched what a 'new' philosophy or worldview - one characterized as relational, post-human, metamodern - might look like. I sought frameworks that seemed more conducive to navigating our complex challenges and fostering flourishing futures, moving beyond the perceived limitations of a more mechanistic, reductionist, Enlightenment-era worldview.

And I do, to some degree, still believe that shifts in our underlying philosophical assumptions are crucial. We likely do need ways of thinking and being that emphasize interconnectedness, ecological awareness, and the limits of human control.

Yet, eventually I noticed the paradox: the very idea of saying, "Okay, this is the old, bad philosophy (mechanistic, hierarchical, control-oriented), and this is the new, good philosophy (relational, emergent, ecological), so now let’s all go do, be, and act according to the new one"... well, it feels suspiciously like applying an old paradigm method to a new paradigm goal. It feels inherently grounded in a mechanistic approach that prescribes beforehand exactly where we "best" should go, assuming we know the destination and the right path.

Studying this "new" philosophy - which, it must always be acknowledged, often draws heavily on wisdom traditions that are ancient, particularly Indigenous ways of knowing, making the label "new" somewhat problematic - is now possible in many online courses. I also co-developed such a course, which was explicitly designed to "teach" a relational worldview.

Just writing this out now makes me cringe slightly. The very notion that we can package, teach, and predictably install a new worldview feels deeply suspect, deeply ironic. It’s like trying to schedule spontaneity or mandate emergence.

Lingering Questions and Potential Risks

At the same time, the practical questions persist, nagging at the edges of any romantic embrace of pure letting go. Would I have ever achieved anything?

Discipline, structure, and focused effort seem undeniably necessary for certain kinds of achievement.

Can we really hope to co-create a more beautiful, just, and sustainable world without some kind of shared vision, some form of plan, however adaptable? Can I hold a vision, maybe even make a plan, and simultaneously let go of my attachment to it?

That, at least, is what some of the more nuanced self-help or "miracle" literature suggests: formulate a clear intention, make a vision, perhaps even take initial steps, but then release it, let go, and trust that the universe (or your subconscious, or the process of life) will bring it to fruition in its own way, in its own time.

But does a complete letting go risk dissolving into a kind of postmodern relativism, where "anything goes" because there are no guiding principles or desired directions? Or does it veer into a naive, romantic idealism, a blind faith that ignores the very real dangers, injustices, and suffering in the world that demand focused action and, yes, sometimes, confrontation and structured change?

So, how can we possibly reconcile these poles?

Cultivating Sensibilities

Photo by Eva Gomez on Unsplash

As is perhaps becoming characteristic of this space, and certainly of my own philosophical disposition, I don’t have a neat answer, but rather suggestions for cultivating certain sensibilities, certain ways of orienting ourselves within this dynamic.

1. Intentional emergence: One approach that resonates with me is thinking about intentional emergence. This means treating plans not as immutable blueprints , but more like initial hypotheses, sketches, or invitations. We set a direction, perhaps articulate a desired destination or quality, but we do so with the explicit understanding that the map is not the territory. The plan is a starting point, a way to gather energy and focus attention, but it must remain open to revision based on the feedback reality provides. It's about holding our intentions firmly enough to guide action, but lightly enough to allow for unexpected detours, serendipitous discoveries, and necessary course corrections. Can we plan the first few steps with clarity, while leaving the distant path open to the mists of uncertainty?

2. Focusing on values over fixed outcomes: Instead of planning "I will achieve X by date Y," perhaps the intention can become "I will move in the direction of X, embodying qualities like courage, compassion, and attentiveness along the way." The focus shifts from controlling the what to cultivating the how. If the process itself aligns with our deepest values, the specific outcome becomes less critical, or at least, we become less rigidly attached to one particular manifestation of success.

3. Differentiating time horizons: Perhaps detailed planning is more appropriate and necessary for short-term, operational tasks. Coordinating a meeting, organizing a workshop, ensuring groceries are bought - these typically benefit from clear steps and schedules.

4. Cultivating deeper attentiveness: Part of living in this tension also seems to require cultivating a deeper attentiveness, a form of mindfulness towards our own inner states and the subtle signals from the world around us. When are we clinging to a plan out of fear, insecurity, or a desperate need for control? When is our planning arising from a genuine sense of clarity, purpose, or responsibility? When does resistance to a plan signal that the plan itself is flawed or needs adaptation, and when is it simply our own internal friction? Similarly, when is "letting go" a genuine act of trust and surrender, and when is it a subtle form of avoidance, passivity, or resignation disguised as spiritual wisdom? Developing this discernment is likely a lifelong practice.

5. Embracing “good enough": It might also mean embracing the idea of "good enough". Perfectionism is often a hidden form of seeking control. Letting go involves accepting that our plans will be imperfect, our actions will have unintended consequences, and the world will remain stubbornly complex and unpredictable.

As much as I’d love to side with the philosophers who say to “just let go”, ultimately, navigating this tension feels less like finding a static middle ground, and more in developing the flexibility to move skillfully between the poles as needed, guided by intention, informed by reality, and grounded in a fundamental trust in the larger process of life itself.

I find that this ongoing negotiation between shaping and surrendering might be one of the core practices of living a conscious, engaged, and meaningful life, one of those timeless questions that we can never get a final answer to, but rather that we explore again and again.

And so, this brings me back to the name change. Wrestling with these tensions - the inadequacy of fixed goals like "health," the hubris of pretending to know the best outcome - shows me that my inquiry isn't really about achieving a predefined state. My work (and life) is dedicated to the messy, untamed, wild process of questioning, sense-making, and living within complexity itself. wild:philosophy, then, feels like a more honest reflection of this ongoing, open-ended exploration into how we navigate reality.