Standalone Essays · Triad of Stewardship

Positive Detachment

Happiness isn’t something to be chased. It’s what remains when we stop blocking it.

We often find ourselves racing after the next pleasure — the next win, the next rush, or the connection that lights us up — only to feel it slip away. When the hunger returns, it isn’t because we are flawed; it’s simply because we’ve been looking for lasting satisfaction in fleeting moments.

Contentment asks for something else entirely. It isn’t the absence of desire, but a quiet peace that coexists with it. It is natural to yearn for security, love, and growth. But when our inner calm depends entirely on what happens next, stillness never arrives. And that stillness is where we finally come home to ourselves.

Try practicing this: savor the ordinary — the warmth of the sun, a meal that nourishes, a kind word — without demanding that the moment last forever. Love fiercely, but try not to make another’s presence the sole condition of your well-being. Pour your heart into your work, but refuse to let a title or a round of applause define your worth.

Detachment isn’t numbness. It’s freedom. It allows us to say: I care deeply — but I am not a captive. When we release the grip of fear — the fear of missing out or fading into the background — the world changes. Our actions begin to flow from purpose rather than panic. Generosity becomes effortless.

Savoring Without Enslavement

Detachment from fine food and drink does not bar the sommelier or the haute cuisine chef — Sojournism would likely see the mastery of the culinary arts as a noble pursuit. The key is moderation and self-control. It’s perfectly fine to appreciate and even cultivate a refined palate, as long as we don’t become so driven by the pursuit of culinary pleasure that it becomes an obsession or a source of suffering. Even in these pursuits, the best practitioners periodically cleanse their palates so that a surfeit of flavor in one area does not preclude appreciation of another, perhaps more subtle flavor. Most good chefs would agree, for example, that a food that is overly sweet is not something that they would appreciate. Yet many modern diets are replete with sugar in various forms and we can see the results in our health and in our waistlines. So good flavor should be balanced and moderate, subtle and complex. Such things could be a form of a Sojourner’s mindful appreciation, without going into the excess that too many people practice.

And there is a limit beyond flavor. If a meal is exorbitantly expensive, it wouldn’t matter how subtle or complex it is. A Sojourner would rather show their ethics by limiting expenses that only delight the palate at the cost of failing to honor other, more precious values. The Sojourner’s focus on moderation and frugality extends beyond flavor to the broader context of meals, including cost and ethics.

Planning for Uncertainty

To detach from your plans is not to abandon them. The universe is not deterministic but probabilistic, so uncertainty has to be factored in as an essential ingredient of your experience. This mindset is one I learned from Jiu-jitsu. You have a given set of skills, tricks or techniques that you are very good at. But of course, the opponent, if he’s any good, probably has done his research and has worked on some counter-techniques. So you have to have a sufficiently wide range that you can bring to bear from different angles, different speeds, or from different positions so that the opponent is surprised. Resilience comes in two forms: first, you have to have the stamina to endure the energy sapping onslaught until an opportunity presents itself. Second, you have to be able to constantly counter the opponent’s strategy while analyzing them for weaknesses — while still trying to establish dominance. By prioritizing adaptability, you can see how a given technique, like kote gaeshi, can be applied in many different ways; ways that the opponent might not realize pose a threat until you show him different.

The Vulcan and the Klingon

The hardest detachment of all is detachment from your own survival. Two fictional peoples map the stakes. Klingons are the epitome of brash arrogance — a warrior culture that is deeply concerned with “honor” and reputation, yet that obsession trips them up ethically on many occasions. They are out of balance, and it ends up showing in their internecine warfare, and in the end they become more of a second-rate empire. The Vulcans, on the other hand, though calm and largely peaceful and valuing detachment in all things, make formidable warriors. They can throw themselves into combat wholeheartedly if they believe the cause is just. They can sacrifice themselves for the many without hesitation or regret. Though we are at first led to believe that they are without passion, we soon find out that they are so disciplined because they used to struggle so much to control their emotions. They are actually deeply emotional — but they’ve learned to control it. Of the two peoples, Sojourners would lean more toward the Vulcan way of doing things than the Klingon way.

This is also evident from an autistic point of view. Autistic people are often accused of being without empathy, but the truth is that they are often quite sensitive to the emotions of others, perhaps even overly so. Autistic traits, if disciplined, can produce a formidable product, one that has much to contribute to society. But if allowed to run amok, the same traits lead to “Klingon-esque” volatility. So detachment from even one’s own survival puts the priority of humanity above one’s own life and allows for heroic efforts, but also should produce a form of quiet self-effacing discipline.

The Fickleness of Praise

Refusing to let applause define your worth is not the same as despising it. My view of flattery isn’t negative so much as neutral — or watchful. Those who are lavish in their praise tend to be the ones I have found to be just as lavish in their hate. They just seem to be extreme in general; and very emotional people are usually fickle. They don’t have to be wicked people. But when someone is dramatic, regardless of the emotion, and they are controlled by their feelings — well, feelings come and go.

Crowds are the worst. They are the most extreme example of emotional craziness in humans, and the larger the crowd, the worse it gets. I’ve seen crowds emotionally turn on a dime, over and over again. I believe they actually smell the emotion on each other and the emotion becomes contagious. I place no trust in crowds of people. In fact I have adopted the old trope, “A large crowd of people is called a ‘nope!’”

I’ve performed in front of very large crowds, probably thousands of times, and heard applause. It’s nice. I just don’t place a lot of faith in it. I prefer the feeling of flow that I get as I perform — the feeling you get when all the elements combine at the same moment to get that perfect performance. Now that’s satisfaction. The random, chaotic, green noise sound of applause at the end? Briefly and politely acknowledge it (so it doesn’t turn on you) and go on to the next attempt.

Your legacy isn’t your fame; it’s the quiet lift you gave to others. Peace isn’t about what we accumulate, but what we are willing to let go of. Live fully. Feel everything. But anchor yourself in what endures: your integrity, your kindness, and your sincere effort.

See also: Essays · Sojournism: Full Documentation

Part of the Triad of Stewardship’s Standalone Essays. Companion pieces: Forgiveness and Its Limits (forthcoming) · The Mandates of Conflict · Criminal Justice.