Leading with Clarity: What Is Ours to Control

Epictetus began his Enchiridion with a simple statement: some things are up to us, and some are not. For the individual, this can be a way to manage anxiety and remain calm when life turns difficult. For leaders, the idea has a broader use, and it helps steady teams when hardship hits and priorities blur.

Adversity does not arrive with warning labels. Teams rarely sit idle when it does; more often they are hit by everything at once. When a project slips, or a client hesitates, or rumours of restructuring begin to circulate, people instinctively treat every factor with equal urgency. The things they can influence such as the quality of their work, the way they support each other; sit alongside what they cannot, such as political decisions or shifting executive moods. In the fog of uncertainty, these factors all appear to carry the same weight. Progress slows not because the team is disengaged, but because they are grappling with too much at once and cannot see what deserves their attention most.

This is the moment leadership earns its keep. The Stoic idea of the Dichotomy of Control is a quiet discipline, not a slogan. You do not wave it at people; you use it to narrow their field of view until the work becomes visible again. The leader does not dismiss the concerns or trivialise the uncontrollable, but instead asks the grounding question: of all the things happening, which are truly ours to act upon? Clarity steadies people. The chatter fades, and attention shifts back to the work. Some matters are squarely ours. Some sit in our circle of influence, where steady behaviour shifts outcomes over time. The rest we simply observe.

Imagine a product group instructed to deliver a release two months earlier than planned. The immediate reaction is frustration: the decision feels arbitrary, the deadline impossible, and the politics behind it opaque.

Left to themselves, the team debates the unfairness of the situation and loses valuable time. A leader who applies the Dichotomy responds differently. “We cannot move the date,” they explain, “but we can decide what scope matters most, what to drop, what to keep, and where quality must not slip.” No false reassurance; no stewing in resentment. Instead, they are reminded of what is within their grasp and trusted to act on it. Their work gains meaning again, because the space where their judgment matters has been made clear. Sometimes ‘ours’ includes pushing back with evidence. If the date jeopardises safety or trust, leaders surface the risk, offer options, and ask for a trade. Protecting the team is part of the job, not an excuse.

A service team discovers that its largest client is undergoing leadership upheaval. Rumours begin to circulate about budget cuts and cancelled projects. Anxiety takes hold. People start to ask whether their months of effort are about to be wasted. Let’s bring the conversation back to what the team can influence. “We cannot decide what happens in that client’s boardroom,” the leader tells them. “What we can control is the way we show up each day, the clarity of our communication, the quality of our deliverables, and the trust we build with the people we speak to directly. If budgets are cut, we will have given them every reason to value our work.” The risk remains but their effort feels worthwhile, and their focus meaningful.

These thought experiments show how the Dichotomy translates into practice. It is not about ignoring external forces, nor is it a hollow appeal to stay positive. It is about giving shape to a team’s energy when it risks being scattered across things they cannot change. More importantly, it is an act of respect. To tell a team what is theirs to control is also to say: your work matters here, and I trust you with it. That sentence carries more weight than any schedule. People do their best work when they know what is theirs and they feel trusted to own it.

That message of trust changes how people experience adversity. It moves them from passively enduring pressure to actively shaping their response. Teams begin to see their sphere of control as a place where their choices and their standards make a difference. Over time, that shift compounds. People stop treating all factors as equal, and start distinguishing between what belongs to them and what does not. They feel steadier in the face of uncertainty, and they feel respected because their leaders have dignified their effort by protecting it from waste.

This is where the Dichotomy earns its place. It is more than a personal tool. Used well, it becomes a shared discipline. Teams that learn to live by it become less prone to panic and paralysis, and more capable of acting with purpose when the environment turns hostile. They waste less energy on speculation, and invest more in progress. They also learn to reinforce the discipline for one another, asking the same grounding question in meetings and in moments of doubt: is this ours to solve?

It does not promise easier weeks. It does not remove the pressure of harsh deadlines, unpredictable clients, or disruptive restructures. It cannot eliminate the sting of decisions taken elsewhere. What it provides is steadiness, the ability to face those pressures without being consumed by them. By focusing attention on what can be shaped, leaders help their teams carry adversity with dignity rather than despair.

People watch what leaders watch. They see where their leaders place attention. If a leader obsesses over politics they cannot influence, the team learns to do the same. If a leader dwells on blame or speculation, people take their cue and follow. But if the leader calmly redirects attention to the work that is within reach, that discipline becomes contagious. Over time, meetings change shape: fewer post-mortems on politics, more decisions on work we can actually move.

Epictetus was not writing for modern organisations, but his words still cut through. “Some things are up to us, and some are not.” Leaders who carry that insight into their daily practice give their teams more than clarity. They give them trust, respect, and the knowledge that their energy is being directed toward what matters. That is what creates resilience. Not resilience as a slogan, resilience as a habit of still making progress on hard days. In tough weeks, open meetings with three fast questions: What is ours today? What sits in our influence, and how will we show up to shift it? What will we note, then set aside? It takes sixty seconds and resets the room.

The real test of leadership is rarely a grand decision. It is the daily act of naming what belongs to the team, protecting their attention, and showing that you trust them to act on it. Do that, and people need less certainty from you. They need the next clear step, then they take it.