Why we do what we do (Part 2).
In praise of cognitive dissonance.
“The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposing ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function. One should, for example, be able to see that things are hopeless yet be determined to make them otherwise.” ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald
The true intelligence in Fitzgerald’s quote emerges from the ability to engage with cognitive dissonance, not flee from it—particularly from holding contradictory thoughts like “I don’t feel like it” and “I want it” simultaneously. This psychological tension—maintaining opposing beliefs while still functioning effectively—isn’t merely intelligence but a gateway to profound personal transformation.
You can read Part 1 at this link.
Note: If you don’t believe in free will, you might want to stop reading—but then again, that’s not your choice, is it?
There’s a surprising liberation in Fitzgerald's paradox1—that genuine intelligence resides not in eliminating contradictions, but in embracing them. Yet how seldom we permit ourselves this freedom. Instead, we construct elaborate justifications to reconcile the gap between our ideals and the limited boundaries of our mental frameworks and patterns of behavior.
Remember my friend with the red corduroy pants from Part 1? His theatrical spill illustrated our universal tendency to create narratives that preserve our comforting routines and self-image. But there’s another, more pervasive story we craft daily—what I call the “have to” narrative.
“I have to stay at this job I hate.”
“I have to keep my mouth shut in the face of cruelty, deception or injustice.”
“I have to maintain this relationship or way of doing things.”
Let me state this unequivocally: claiming “I have to” is never a fact. It’s one of the most pervasive deceptions we tell ourselves and others. The truth is, when we say, “I don’t want to, but I’m going to do it—or allow it—anyway,” what we’re really saying is, “I would rather do this thing I claim not to want than face the consequences of not doing it.”
History offers powerful examples that shatter this illusion of obligation. When the Nazis came to the door of the family hiding Anne Frank and asked if they were harboring any Jews, did the family “have to” turn her in? When Muhammad Ali was drafted to fight in Vietnam, did he “have to” obey? When Rosa Parks was told to surrender her seat, did she “have to” move to the back of the bus?
No. Each confronted a choice—a potentially devastating, consequential choice, but a choice nonetheless. And each decision revealed what they valued most deeply.
You might object: “But if I don’t pay my taxes, I’ll face imprisonment.” True—but that remains a choice with consequences, not an absence of choice. Henry David Thoreau chose jail rather than pay taxes supporting slavery and the Mexican-American War. “Under a government which imprisons any unjustly,” he wrote, “the true place for a just man is also a prison.”
But what about more nuanced circumstances? The person who says, “I have to drink” or “I have to use drugs—I don’t want to, but I can’t stop”? Or the dutiful daughter or son who insists, “I have to care for my ailing parents, even though it’s consuming my life”?
Addiction presents a particularly complex case. The biochemical hooks of substances create powerful compulsions that feel beyond conscious control. The brain physically adapts, making rewards feel dulled while amplifying discomfort in their absence. This is why withdrawal—whether from alcohol or from deeply ingrained behaviors—can feel unbearable
Yet even here, the narrative of “having to” ultimately undermines recovery. Healing communities have long recognized that transformation begins precisely when someone reclaims their agency—when they acknowledge that despite the difficulty, despite withdrawal pain, despite the biochemical rewiring of desire, a choice remains.
This isn’t minimizing the excruciating difficulty of that choice or the support needed to sustain it. But countless recovery journeys begin with the recognition: “I want this substance, and I can want differently.” The person who says “I have to drink” is actually saying, “The pain of not drinking feels unbearable to me right now.” This represents a profound truth about their experience, but it’s fundamentally different from having no choice.
Similarly, caregiving represents one of life’s most challenging value territories. The daughter caring for aging parents might feel crushed by obligation, resentful of sacrifices, yet unable to envision alternatives. “I have to care for them,” she insists, “what choice do I have?”
But even here, recognizing the truth reveals the choices concealed beneath the self-imposed narrative of obligation. “I want to prioritize my parents’ care over other aspects of my life right now” acknowledges both the commitment and the agency involved. It honors the decision and cultivates gratitude rather than reducing it to mere obligation that breeds bitterness and resentment. It also creates space to examine the boundaries and sustainability of that choice, potentially leading to more balanced caregiving arrangements.
The language of obligation (“I have to”) and emotional reasoning (“I feel it, therefore it’s true”) shields us from the uncomfortable reality of our own freedom, and the responsibility that comes with it. Perhaps the most profound act of honesty is to replace “I have to” with “I want to”—and then examine what that choice reveals about our true priorities.
In Part 3, I’ll explore how the “have to” narrative not only diminishes our sense of agency but actively blinds us to creative alternatives. I’ll also show how transforming “I have to” into “I want to” becomes a profound source of personal power, opening doorways to more authentic, regret-free living.
Stay passionate!
Here’s an example of hopelessness and determination: It’s impossible for a batter to hit a major league fastball, but they do it anyway. Find out how.
Thank you for reminding me of so much I keep saying to myself and others, my clients etc. AND it feels good to have someone say it back to me, to feel the choices, the agency I have, my essence is without limitation, and I get to choose again and again finding my way one step at a time, one breath at a time, JUST IN
TIME.