It was a Tuesday night, and I was out for a night walk with a crutch. Not a metaphorical one—a literal one. I had sprained my back, yet I was determined to keep my momentum. The swimming pool I usually frequented was under repair, and so, there I was, walking, limping, reflecting.

That night, something profound settled in my spirit: the strange gift of having “no choice.”

Earlier that day, during our leadership devotion, we reflected on Genesis 46:1–7. It was the story of Jacob—a man who had run and wrestled all his life. But at the end of it, he finally surrendered. He let go. The message was clear: Lordship must precede godly leadership. For too long, Jacob tried to be in control. And in doing so, he lived far beneath the destiny already written for him. Only when he let go, did God redefine him.

That night, as I limped along in the dark, I realized how often I make the same mistake—thinking I’m leading well, while unknowingly wrestling God for control.

Letting go isn’t weakness. It’s clarity. And sometimes clarity only comes when choice is removed.

The Sauna Conversation: When No Choice Is the Gift

That afternoon, I sat in the sauna with a young leader I’ve been journeying with. We talked about purpose, pain, and perseverance. At one point, he said something that struck me deeply: “Maybe the only reason I could push through was because I didn’t have a choice.”

That sentence lingered.

In a world obsessed with freedom and options, here was someone finding strength not in abundance, but in absence. Not in having many paths, but in knowing there’s only one way forward.

He didn’t say it as a victim. He said it as someone who found focus. Who found fuel.

I thought about it again: How often do our so-called freedoms become distractions? How often does too much choice dilute our commitment?

Lordship, after all, is not about freedom to choose. It is about surrendering that choice.

Psychologist Barry Schwartz once observed that too much choice breeds paralysis, regret, and dissatisfaction. We think options empower us, but often they fragment us. What if the road to peace is not paved with more doors to open—but the wisdom to shut the wrong ones?

The young man’s story wasn’t rare. I’ve heard it in the quiet desperation of single mothers. In entrepreneurs who burned every bridge behind them. In refugees who fled with nothing but dignity—and rebuilt an entire life from scratch.

And I’ve seen it work in reverse too: those who had all the choices, all the resources, all the freedom—but none of the fire.

Sometimes, the worst kind of suffering is found in people who have too many options. Because they never stay long enough to become anyone of depth.

The Marriage I Almost Gave Up On

This lesson didn’t just apply to leadership. It applies to my marriage too.

In my belief, divorce is not an option. For the longest time, I thought I had “no choice.” Friends and mentors encouraged me to persist, but I hated it. I felt trapped by commitment.

But 10 years in, I started to see things differently.

• The first breakthrough? I realized my wife is a mirror. Every time she speaks to me, I now pause and ask one simple question: “How does she feel?”
• The second breakthrough? I stopped trying to fix the problem. I started listening to understand.
• The third breakthrough? I learned to love her in the way she wants to be loved—not how I prefer to show it.

These three shifts didn’t come overnight. They came with time, reflection, failure, and grace.

And today, I’m deeply grateful I had “no choice.”

Because it turns out, “giving up is not an option” isn’t the full truth.

Giving up is a stupid option—throwing away something so valuable just because it needs to be repaired.

Some things are worth the effort. And some people are worth the pain of learning how to love them better.

The MCO Decision: We Didn’t Choose This

When Malaysia announced its first Movement Control Order (MCO), we had only 60 students. Small. Fragile. Uncertain.

We didn’t have a crisis management team. We didn’t have a digital transformation budget. We didn’t even have proper training for online learning.

But we did have one thing: conviction.

While other schools waited, we made a decision. An unpopular one. We converted our entire school online immediately. Some called it rash. Some said it was premature. Some staff resigned. We were losing people when every single team member mattered.

But we felt it in our bones: We had no choice.

The MCO would be extended. That much was clear. And our mission to serve students couldn’t wait.

We improvised: Zoom for classes. Google Classroom for homework. ClassDojo for communication. We learned fast. We simplified. We shipped. We led.

The result? Our enrollment tripled. Not because we were tech experts. But because we surrendered early.

We didn’t wait to be ready. We committed when it was messy. And in doing so, we found momentum we never would’ve had if we waited for clarity to come before commitment.

That single decision became the foundation of how we now respond to crisis: we don’t panic. We don’t wait for clarity. We move with conviction. And we trust that clarity often follows motion.

The truth is, we lead best when we stop negotiating with fear.

The Sanitized Note & the Scanned QR

That season also changed our relationship with certainty—and with cash.

I still remember coming home and watching my parents sterilize physical money. Every note was wiped with sanitizer. Coins were left in sunlight. It wasn’t paranoia—it was survival.

That fear reshaped our behaviors. From queuing at banks to scanning QR codes, we were forced into a new way of living.

And in that disruption, the Touch ‘n Go eWallet became more than a payment app. It became a symbol of how leadership adapts under constraint. I stopped carrying cash altogether. Even now, five years later, I haven’t returned to the old habit.

Today, I pay with TNG in Johor—and in China. That’s not just convenience. That’s transformation born from limitation. Forced adoption became future readiness.

Sometimes, letting go of the old isn’t a strategic pivot. It’s a survival instinct.

And when we let go early—before we feel ready—we position ourselves for breakthroughs others miss.

Options Are Overrated

Some people say, “I want options.” And that sounds noble. Until options become excuses.

Freedom without surrender becomes noise. Momentum requires direction. And direction often emerges when there’s no escape route left.

I’ve seen it in my team. One was forced to stop her studies, so she poured everything into work. Another left home young and found meaning in building something she once resisted. These weren’t stories of brokenness. They were stories of breakthrough. Because they chose to stay. To rise. To believe giving up was not an option.

Angela Duckworth defines grit as “passion and perseverance for long-term goals.” And in every story of those who pressed forward, I saw this truth: The absence of choice became the trigger for resilience. Not weakness, but fire.

I saw how their limitations sharpened their values. I saw how what looked like confinement became a crucible. I saw how their grit didn’t make them hardened—it made them holy.

Even in my own story, I often feel bound by promises I’ve made—to our parents, our students, our team. I don’t get to escape just because it gets hard. I have to surrender.

To let go of the easier path. To stay true to what we started. To become who I never would be if I always had a way out.

When we build without exits, we find strength we didn’t know we had. Because we stop spending energy on escape plans—and start investing it in faithfulness.

And that’s the part few talk about:

Resilience is not just enduring pain. It’s eliminating unnecessary options.

It’s the clarity that comes when you’re all-in.

The Reverse That Redefines It All

We often think freedom means more choice. But what if the opposite is true?

What if real freedom is the ability to stay when you’d rather run? What if freedom is saying yes to one thing—and letting go of all the exits?

“Giving up is not an option” isn’t just a motivational slogan. It’s a leadership foundation. It’s where resolve becomes muscle. It’s where destiny forms.

Sometimes, constraint doesn’t kill momentum. It concentrates it.

Some of the best builders I know aren’t the most talented. They’re the ones who didn’t have a backup plan.

Some of the strongest leaders I know never wanted the spotlight. They just had people counting on them.

Some of the most faithful parents I’ve met never set out to be perfect. They just refused to leave.

So today, I walk with a crutch. Not just physically. But spiritually.

And maybe that’s the point. Maybe we all need something to lean on that slows us down just enough—so we can remember what truly matters.

Sometimes that crutch is pain. Sometimes it’s accountability. Sometimes it’s the promises you made when your heart was clear—even if your courage has faded.

But that crutch is a gift. Because it keeps you walking.

And in the end, that’s what leadership really is. It’s not the speed. It’s not the spotlight. It’s not even the strength.

It’s the willingness to keep walking—faithfully—when all you have left is a limp.

Even when it hurts. Even when it limps. Even when giving up is the easiest thing to do—but the one thing we refuse.

Because somewhere in our bones, we know: Resilience is what leads to the results that matter most.