Agency

I’ve been thinking a lot about agency — what it actually means, and why some people feel compelled to act while others don’t. Not as a moral judgment, just as something I notice and keep circling back to.

I care deeply about being able to do what I feel called to do, and about being honest with myself about that call. You only get one life. And while most people don’t explicitly choose regret, it’s easy to drift into it by ignoring the quiet signals that tell you something matters.

Sometimes that urge to act gets dismissed as ego or ambition. And sure — ego is in there sometimes. But there’s another version of ambition that isn’t about status or recognition. It comes from care. From noticing that something you value is fragile, or starting to break down, or quietly getting worse — and feeling unwilling to let that slide.

If change is constant, then clinging to systems just because they once worked doesn’t make much sense. No one has all the answers. Pretending otherwise feels arrogant. When something stops working, there’s a choice: keep going and act like it’s fine, or take responsibility and try to move things forward. Ideally that happens collaboratively. In practice, it’s often messy and uncomfortable.

A lot gets in the way of agency. Fear of seeming arrogant. Not wanting to overstep. The social dance of not wanting to look like you think you’re doing more than others. But agency isn’t about being better — it’s about listening closely to what you care about and responding honestly. If you notice something meaningful could reasonably disappear or degrade, it’s natural to want to protect it or improve it.

I’ll be honest: I struggle with passivity. It can feel like indifference, or like not appreciating how fortunate certain conditions are. People obviously have very different levels of privilege. But there’s also a quiet privilege in things being good enough that you don’t have to think about them. One phrase I really dislike is “if it isn’t broken, don’t fix it.” If things aren’t broken, that’s great — enjoy it. But also improve them. Make them work better. Make them accessible to more people.

There’s joy in enjoying things, but there’s also joy in sharing them. That balance matters. Taken too far, agency turns into chasing — chasing validation, attention, or a sense of worth. I try to stay wary of that. Recognition feels good, but it doesn’t need to be grand. Often it shows up in how you carry yourself day to day.

If things are going well for you, be kind. If you care about your friends, say it. Don’t hide behind nonchalance. That mindset applies broadly — whenever you have some advantage, whether it’s time, energy, clarity, or stability.

When things are comfortable, people often create problems. Status games creep in. Comparison takes over. It’s understandable — we want to feel proud, accepted, useful. The challenge is holding all of that alongside honesty, which is usually uncomfortable.

I try to move through the world with a simple bias: be helpful, think win-win, create something. Sometimes that’s tangible. Sometimes it’s just a moment — inviting someone in, making things feel a little more open. Not all the time. No one owes constant generosity. Only you know when you have the energy. But the orientation matters.

Markets and capitalism are complicated, but at their best they’re about people doing things for each other. Not everyone has the same capacity to do that at every moment. Education, family stability, health, timing, personality — all of it shapes what someone can contribute. Some skills are valuable now that weren’t before. Others may never align cleanly with market urgency. That’s real.

Context matters. People are useful in different ways at different times. I’m very aware that the things I’m good at happen to be valuable right now. That’s not a moral victory — it’s luck. I’m grateful to be living in a moment where those skills map to real demand.

Earlier in my life, they didn’t. I grew up in environments that rewarded structure and conformity — things I wasn’t especially good at. That created resentment. I felt out of place. Over time, the context changed. The same traits became assets. Nothing intrinsic changed — just the environment.

That’s one reason technology is so exciting to us at Tonic. At its best, it expands agency. It lets individuals and small teams do far more than they could before. You don’t need massive institutions or huge organizations to bring ideas to life anymore. Change is hard, and fast change brings new problems — but that’s just part of living.

Work, at its core, is people doing things for each other. I’m optimistic we’ll always find ways to do that. The real risk isn’t a lack of work — it’s losing perspective. Forgetting that value shifts. Confusing external validation with self-knowledge.

Markets are good at trading goods and services. They’re much worse at helping you understand yourself. When people try to extract identity or meaning purely from achievement, attention, or status, it tends to collapse under its own weight. That hunger can drive progress — and a lot of distortion.

Agency, to me, isn’t about winning. It’s about care. About noticing. About taking responsibility when something matters to you, even if it’s uncomfortable, even if you might be wrong.

That’s the posture we try to take in our work — and the kind of agency we’re interested in building tools around.