Classy Problems is a daily post of thinking in motion by Dan T. Rogers. Each post stands alone as a thought-provoking piece, yet together, they create a puzzle of ideas. They invite you to see things from a different angle, rethink what you thought you knew, and explore what’s beyond your current understanding.
Classy isn’t just a read: it’s a practice. Read, listen, and join us for Classy Problems Live, a 15-minute, live virtual conversation held Monday through Thursday at 12:15p PT, where we gather to reflect on the Classy Problems post of the day. No need to prep. Just connect, explore, and reflect.
I Framed Myself
I thought I was being honest.
Turns out, I was being urgent.
Urgent is a frame.
I thought I was being clear.
Turns out, I was maintaining.
Maintaining is a frame.
Frames don’t ask.
They assume.
They push.
They perform.
I don’t say I’m scared.
I say I’m frustrated.
I say I’m confused.
I say I’m overwhelmed.
What I mean is:
The frame I’m in
is too small for the life I’m trying to live.
Someone asked, how can I help?
I didn’t know.
I framed help as failure.
As weakness.
As incompetence.
Instead of being vulnerable.
I was accurate.
Rather than tell the truth
I deflected by drawing a map.
Naming a pattern.
Articulating accurately.
I never said, I’m scared.
Or I don’t know.
That frame provides me clarity
while it keeps me distant.
It keeps me safe.
It keeps me apart from.
I want to be a part of.
I want something more complete.
One that includes
not knowing, grief, and fear.
I can’t change my system
if I can’t see my frame.
If I can’t name my frame
I am dominated by it.
I Missed the Moment
I thought I was being productive.
Turns out, I was performing.
Performance is a pattern.
I thought I was making progress.
Turns out, I was managing emotion.
Management is a mode.
I wasn’t in the moment.
I was ahead of it.
Planning for the fallout.
Bracing for the turn.
The moment isn’t loud.
It doesn’t demand.
It doesn’t perform.
It waits.
It invites.
I kept misdiagnosing it.
Acting like it was a survival moment
hen there wasn’t a life and death threat.
My story told me there was.
My emotions felt like there was.
My actions looked like there was.
I was with someone I love.
They weren’t asking for advice.
They were asking for me to hold space.
I gave them clarity.
I gave them insight.
I gave them everything.
I missed what they were asking for.
They wanted space.
Not from me,
Space with me.
Space for me to hear them.
Space for them to see themselves.
I missed it.
I didn’t want to feel.
Uncertainty. Shame. Grief.
It’s easier to narrate than to be here.
Even when it’s your stuff.
Especially when it’s my feelings.
The moment doesn’t need my vision.
It’s asking for my attention.
I say I’m busy. I say I’m tired.
What I mean is: I don’t know how to be here
without fixing it.
I can’t change this pattern
if I keep misdiagnosing the moment.
Shifting Gear
I walked in calm.
I was already performing.
I wasn’t listening, I was rehearsing.
Preparing answers I hadn’t been asked.
No one told me to do that.
It’s the gear I shifted into.
Before I even knew I was moving.
That’s the thing about engagement.
It’s automatic.
It happens beneath the surface.
When I don’t notice it,
I confuse urgency for clarity.
I caught myself in a meeting explaining something
I no longer believe.
Not because I was lying.
I forgot I had another option.
I thought I was leading.
Turns out, I was protecting.
Protecting an image.
A vision. An idea.
Protecting my certainty.
Protecting against feeling too much.
When I over-function,
it looks like confidence.
It’s usually is the delusion of control.
It’s a way of not needing anyone.
Not being affected.
Not getting hurt.
That used to be effective.
It’s no longer acceptable.
Now I see how it keeps me apart from.
The system, from us, from me.
I want to engage differently.
Without the armor.
Without the gear.
Without the scripted strength.
The moment doesn’t need my best answer.
It needs the best version of me
I can stand myself in.
Filling the Place
I entered with presence.
It wasn’t mine.
It belonged to the place.
I scanned.
Shifted up.
Filled the space
before anyone asked me to.
That’s what I had learned to do in the place.
Read the cues.
Match the energy.
Take responsibility for the whole room.
No one asked for that.
I felt it anyway.
Did it anyway.
Felt the weight.
Picked it up anyway.
Felt the story.
Felt who I needed to be
to make the place work.
That’s the pattern.
Expanding to fill the space.
Performing a version of leadership
that doesn’t include me.
I uncovered myself in a place
I’d already outgrown.
I still became who I used to be there.
I forget who I’m becoming.
That used to be useful.
Now it keeps me distracted.
Inflated.
Frustrated.
Exhausted.
I can’t keep mastering the place
if I want to find the place I belong.
How Not To
I didn’t pause.
Didn’t ask.
Didn’t check if I even wanted to.
I started steering.
That’s what I do.
I take the wheel.
Even when the map isn’t mine.
Even when the pace is wrong.
Even when I’m tired.
If I don’t, who will?
Will they do it right?
If I say no, who fills the space?
If I let go, what happens to my delusion of control?
They said, ‘I don’t need you to solve this.’
I heard what they said.
I understood their words.
I disagreed with their approach.
Or at least my actions did.
I heard myself solving it anyway .
Not that I thought they needed me to.
Not that I wanted to.
In that moment, I didn’t know
how not to.
How not to solve.
How not to feel.
How not to speak.
That’s the part that’s hardest to name.
When responsibility isn’t asked for
I take it anyway.
I get agency confused with control.
With my effort.
With my output.
With being the one who always does.
With what I have always done.
Intentional agency starts later.
After I ask:
What direction do I want to take here?
What direction am I willing to follow now?
Agency is my answer whether I ask myself or not.
Intentional agency waits for an indicated answer.
What Version is Playing?
They entered the room.
I entered a role.
My voice changed.
My pace shifted.
My answers explained.
That’s the part I want to deny.
That I still play a role.
Not to deceive.
To belong.
Or to prove.
I don’t need to.
That’s my most common version
the performance for independence.
You don’t control me.
At least I tell myself that.
My external actions seem to support that.
I change my internal orientation when you walk in.
Which means you do control me.
Or at least I am allowing you to.
I soften or sharpen the truth
based on how it will land with you.
Based on how I think it will land with you.
I am anticipating.
I am predicting the future.
I’ve practiced that script
longer than I’ve practiced presence.
Longer than providing space.
That’s the player.
Not the person.
The pattern activated.
I want to notice who I keep becoming,
then decide on purpose
if that version of me
still belongs in my space
in this place.
I Know Certainty
I didn’t stop to ask.
I followed it.
Like it was written somewhere.
Like there’d be consequences if I didn’t.
Be thoughtful.
Don’t be a burden.
Have the answer.
Don’t need too much.
No one said it.
I started enforcing it myself.
On myself.
The behavior, the tone, the tightness.
The voice in my head
telling me what’s allowed.
What isn’t.
What’s right,
what’s wrong.
I caught myself apologizing for interrupting.
Not for being unkind.
For already knowing.
That’s when I heard it.
The rule I’ve been following:
I am only safe when I am certain.
When I know.
That rule used to protect me.
‘I know.’
The two most dangerous words in my vocabulary.
I know limits me.
I know it limits me.
Keeps me in the role.
Keeps me obedient.
Keeps me out of the room
I want to be in.
I don’t know is more accurate.
‘I don’t know’
are the three most honest words in my vocabulary.
I want to know and name the rule.
Then decide if it belongs in the life
I’m trying to live.
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Classy Problems is a daily post of thinking in motion by Dan T. Rogers. Each post stands alone as a thought-provoking piece, yet together, they create a puzzle of ideas. They invite you to see things from a different angle, rethink what you thought you knew, and explore what’s beyond your current understanding.
What is a classy problem? A classy problem is when we’ve been afforded the opportunity to figure out what to do. Time to figure it out. Time to practice. Time to discern. When faced with the time to figure out a classy problem, it is more effective to focus on what NOT to do than trying to figure out what to do. In a word: restraint. JOIN US in exploring the distinction between what to do and what not to do in the pursuit of clarity.
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