In this blog, I recognize the theater of conspiracy thinking and how easily I used to get drawn into its drama. I see now that these grand, all-explaining narratives are not conversations but performances, where people act out roles of revolutionaries and victims, casting blame on faceless powers. Instead of arguing, I choose to return to my own body, my work, and my choices. I’ve come to understand that most of what’s wrong in the world isn’t hidden or sinister—it’s just human. And the way forward isn’t destruction, but grounded, local responsibility.
Sometimes I find myself in conversations with people who are just repeating a story they’ve heard a hundred times. The government is evil. The billionaires are pulling all the strings. The system was built to enslave us. The schools were designed to dumb us down. The media is brainwashing everyone. There’s always a bogeyman—some big, hidden force that explains why everything is broken.
I’ve learned that these people aren’t really talking to me. They’re acting out a story. And when I respond, I’m not talking to them either—I’m responding to a character they’re playing. The revolutionary. The truth-teller. The victim of the grand conspiracy. It’s like watching a play that never ends. Every problem traces back to the same faceless villain. Every solution involves burning everything down and starting over. No one ever has a plan. Only blame.
I used to get pulled into it. I used to try to reason with it. But not anymore. Now, when I hear these stories, I do one thing. I stop and ask myself: How close is this story to me, right now? Usually, it’s not close at all. It’s about some people I’ve never met in a place I’ve never been, doing things I’ll never see. It’s not happening in my room. It’s not happening in my body. It’s not happening in my work. So I let it go.
Occasionally I find them interesting, but most of these stories are just distractions. They feel powerful because they’re dramatic. They give the illusion of clarity and purpose. But all they really do is make me feel small. They make the world seem controlled by something too big to fight. And when I start to believe that, I give up my own power.
I don’t need to believe in the bogeyman to explain what’s wrong with the world. Most of what’s broken is pretty simple: bad leadership, bad incentives, people buying things they don’t need, avoiding responsibility, wanting more than they’ve earned. I see it in myself. I see it in others. It’s not hidden. It’s not mysterious. It’s just human.
And I’m not interested in fantasy. I don’t need a global plot to justify why things are hard. Life is hard because it’s life. And we don’t need to tear it all down. We just need to do better, here, now—with the people we actually know, in the place we actually live.
So when someone starts talking about the grand agenda, or the cabal, or the secret plan to enslave us all, I don’t argue. I just remember where I am. I remember that I have work to do, people to love, and choices to make. And I come back to that. That’s how I deal with scary stories. I stop believing the ones that pull me out of my life here and now. And I start paying attention to the one I’m actually living.
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