Will vs Emergence

 Ever see a potter on his wheel ? The potter is engaged in the act of making. This is the familiar image of an artisan with a clear vision in their mind. They see the finished vase before they've even touched the clay. Every push, every pull, every carefully calculated pressure of their thumb is an action designed to bring that predetermined form into reality. The clay is an instrument, a passive material to be manipulated and controlled. The potter is the sole agent of change, and the pot is the end product—a testament to their skill and a perfect replica of their mental blueprint. This is an act of creation driven by a strong, singular intention.

What if the potter isn't just an imposer, but a facilitator? The clay being a responsive material to someone who understands it. Emergence , Growth ?  The potter is not a master of a passive object, but a partner to a living, responsive material. The clay has its own nature—its moisture, its texture, its resistance. A wise potter doesn't fight this nature; they work with it. They learn its limits, its tendencies. A gentle spiral of pressure might reveal a form they hadn't imagined, or a slight slump might lead to a new, unexpected design.

May be the potter is more of a gardener than a manufacturer. They create the conditions for something to flourish. They provide the wheel, the water, the heat, and their skilled hands—but the final form is a collaboration. The pot isn't just "made" by the potter; it emerges from the interplay between the potter's intention and the clay's inherent possibilities. It's a form of co-creation, where the artist's role is to guide and nurture rather than to dominate. The potters that shaped my clay ? - teachers from school that I revere. They are what made me along with my parents. 

We don’t realise but this dance between imposing will and allowing emergence plays out in every interaction, every decision. Think about a manager leading a team. They can either impose their will by dictating every task, every detail—"making" a project happen exactly as they've envisioned it. The result is often a predictable outcome, but it can stifle creativity and autonomy. The team becomes a tool, a passive extension of the manager's mind. But another manager might choose to facilitate growth. They set a clear goal, provide the resources, and then step back, allowing the team to find their own solutions. This approach requires trust and a willingness to be surprised. The manager isn't "making" the project; they're creating the conditions for it to emerge, shaped by the collective intelligence and unique contributions of each person. The final product might look different from the initial vision, but it's often more innovative and resilient because it wasn't a rigid blueprint but an organic process.

When I sit down to write, I don’t think about a rigid outline and the structure or the correctness of a  sentence. I write , let the words emerge and maybe be after I am done look at the article and correct obvious mistakes. Some I will leave they are there because they make the reading easy.  And this tension is present in my personal life, too. It's a choice I face every day, in every moment. Do I try to control the narrative of my day, forcing every plan and expectation into a neat, perfect shape? Or do I allow room for the unexpected, for the small surprises and spontaneous detours? I have a vision for my life, yes, a general sense of where I want to go. But I've learned that if I hold that vision too tightly, I miss the beautiful, unexpected forms that can emerge from the messy, unpredictable clay of existence. The pot that my life is; is not just a replica of some mental blueprint, but a collaborative piece; a dialogue between my intentions and the world's unfolding nature. It's a constant, subconscious negotiation between my desire for control and my openness to what might be. In that delicate balance, I often find the the most beautiful work.

C