The Systems We Obey—and the Ones We Forget to Build

This was written on a flight to Malaysia—no WiFi, no entertainment—just observation, reflection, and a familiar reminder that travel has a way of exposing the systems we blindly accept.

I was listening to a podcast about goals and the idea of creating systems, and it made me reflect on something I’ve always felt but never fully articulated.

I’ve always had a defiant relationship with life. Not reckless—questioning. And because of that, I’ve noticed how easily most people follow systems created by other human beings, rarely stopping to ask why. We’re conditioned to believe, this is just how things are done, without recognizing that systems are not laws of nature—they’re constructs. Imperfect ones, built by imperfect people.

What’s often overlooked is that this conditioning doesn’t begin in adulthood—it begins in childhood.

As children, we naturally ask why about everything. Why is the sky blue? Why do we do it this way? Why can’t it be different? This curiosity—this instinct to question—is frequently what frustrates parents and guardians the most. And instead of being nurtured, it’s often shut down with the most dangerous answer of all: because I said so.

In that moment, curiosity isn’t answered—it’s overridden. Many children are quietly instructed to fall in line with the same systems their parents and guardians have already conformed to. The questioning mind dulls. Imagination gets redirected. The original impulse to create meaning and structure for oneself slowly gives way to obedience.

Fortunately, my light was never dimmed.

I was raised by two nonconformist parents who didn’t follow a predetermined script. They often moved through life by intuition rather than instruction—and that way of being quietly shaped me. I also wasn’t a particularly verbal child. I didn’t constantly ask why out loud—but I observed relentlessly. I paid close attention to human behavior, to patterns, to systems, and to how all of this was supposed to make sense in my newly discovered existence as a human being.

That early observation shaped how I move through the world.

Because the truth is, children don’t arrive here wanting to comply—they arrive wanting to create. Through imagination, play, and curiosity, they instinctively begin forming their own systems of meaning. But that impulse is often stripped away by rigid, archaic structures other humans have deemed “the way.”

There are always cracks in systems because humans themselves are perfectly imperfect, navigating this floating rock we’ve somehow all reincarnated on together.

Following suit becomes bizarre when logic disappears.

Take airlines, for example—one of the most broken and unquestioned systems we regularly submit to. You can leave one country with a carry-on that meets weight requirements, arrive without adding a single item, and suddenly the airline you’re flying out with claims your bag is overweight. You’re forced to pay or rearrange your belongings.

An employee enforces this rule strictly—until you remove a jacket or a book, hold it in your arms, and suddenly the number on the scale becomes acceptable. You’re cleared to fly. The moment you walk away with your boarding pass, you can place those same items right back into your bag.

Nothing actually changed.

The weight didn’t change.
The reality didn’t change.
Only the performance did.

And yet we comply—temporarily—because we want access. We want passage. We want to move forward.

What fascinates me is how disciplined we are with external systems, yet how resistant we are to creating and honoring systems in our own lives.

People fall in line with ease—but struggle to build consistent systems around their health, their finances, their creativity, or their longevity. We obey structures that benefit institutions and corporations while neglecting structures that would radically improve our own lives.

The real shift happens when you remember what you once knew as a child.

This world is a stage play.

You don’t have to reject existing systems—but you don’t have to worship them either. Learn how to play along when necessary, but pour your real energy into building the only systems that truly matter: the ones that govern how you live, move, care for your body, protect your peace, and create your freedom.

Take back control of your narrative.
Be the author of your book.
Be the painter of your canvas.

The most powerful systems you’ll ever follow are the ones you create for yourself.