Existential Dread—  What If Not Choosing Is Still a Choice?

“I exist, that is all, and I find it nauseating. - Satre

I didn't set out to write an essay about existential dread and freedom. But after a recent post on social media sparked a wave of unexpected discussion, I realized this was a conversation worth having. It quickly became clear that I wasn't alone in wrestling with the complexities of free will—with the way the very thing we crave, the power to choose our path can sometimes feel like the heaviest burden to bear.  

So one day, out of a whim, I wrote this on Facebook: 

Existential Dread.

This today. Life is pushing me towards a change… something I might have asked for but also maybe only half-consciously.

Or I want it to be exactly the way I want it. I wanted EVERYTHING. To give up nothing but to have everything I wanted.

How can I be so enraptured, so intoxicatingly optimistic about the unknown that stretches before me, yet feel this crippling fear, this suffocating grip, this utter inability to let go of the familiar?

I am captivated by the promise of a future I had hoped for. Yet now that the doors have been thrown open, I am so grief-stricken at the thought of losing the life I built, the ground that once felt solid beneath my feet.

I am so grateful to the universe for the necessary violent push, for the chance to begin again, yet I feel powerless in the face of not knowing HOW it’s going to happen.

I crumble, clinging to the wreckage before surrendering to the flow.

This is the existential dread, the dreadful paradox, isn’t it?

To be both terrified and thrilled by the very same force, to mourn what's left behind while dancing on the precipice of something new.

Change-seeking, growth-loving animals like us are perhaps, all on this tightrope, balancing the comfort of the known with the dizzying allure of the unknown.  

  X

My reflection on existential dread reminds me of existential philosopher Sartre's assertion that we are "condemned to be free." This "condemnation" is not some cruel punishment from God or Allah, but a fundamental truth of our existence: we are thrown into this world without an instruction manual, without a predetermined purpose.

This rings especially true in our postmodern, post-truth, fluid world—a world stripped bare of grand narratives. The old certainties—the solidity of traditions, which all once promised a singular, unifying truth—have crumbled. Churches, once pillars of moral guidance, no longer hold the authority they once had. Political ideologies have revealed their limitations and fallibility. Even modern science, once touted as the answer to all human problems, is now subject to manipulation, skewed by online influencers, pop psychology, and social media. The floodgate of existential dread swung wide open, and it is no longer a struggle of a few gifted ones.

We all think we want freedom, but Existential philosophers across history have warned us how deep down many of us find it terrifying. It feels freeing at first to realize we have the freedom of choice, and that we do not all have one predetermined path. Yet, with this understanding comes a profound weight: the responsibility for each choice we make. No longer can we seek solace in the dictates of our fathers and mothers, the guidance of institutions, or the expectations of teachers and gurus. Whatever happens next, it seems, we must be responsible for it. Feeling the weight of our fate in our hands fills many of us with existential dread.

Existential dread can gnaw at us at any life stage. It often surfaces first in adolescence, but reemerges as a prominent theme during mid-life crises. As we age, witnessing another wrinkle on our faces, feeling the aches in our knees and backs, a fierce urgency takes hold. The reminder of our limited time on earth ignites a yearning for authenticity. We long to shed the masks we have worn, to step out from under our parents' dictates, to embrace our creativity, to be seen and heard for who we truly are. Our tolerance for inauthenticity and societal pressures wears thin with every page of the calendar torn off. And that's when not just existential dread but guilt begins to haunt us: We feel the weight of time, the preciousness of each remaining moment, and the agonizing awareness of a life not lived.

Often, even the life we now live, once authentic but authentic no longer, is a wreckage we cling to. Even as our bodies and souls ache, we still flounder and try to seek refuge in the familiar. Our existential dread and guilt can knock on our doors in many ways: unexplained aches, chronic fatigue, endless procrastination, irritation with our loved ones, and a chronic sense of unease. We feel a persistent emptiness, a lack of joy even in the face of supposed successes.  The world might seem drained of color it once had in our greener days. 

This predicament of clinging to the old and ignoring our existential dread is what French philosopher Sartre called "bad faith"—a form of self-deception where we attempt to deny our freedom and conform to predetermined roles or expectations. According to him, in bad faith, we deny our freedom. We become objects defined by circumstance rather than subjects who create ourselves through our choices.  

The worst part? Sartre reminds us that even when we refuse to choose, that is still a choice. That is what he meant when he said we are all cursed to be free.  We hide behind indecision, letting circumstances or others dictate our path. We tell ourselves we had no choice, that acting otherwise would have been too difficult, too painful. We claim we do not want to hurt or disappoint others, as if we have any real control over that. But in each instance of not choosing, we choose nonetheless.  The undeniable reality is that our inaction is a choice that shapes our reality just as any action.

The Universe sometimes intervenes to yank us out of bad faith. That "necessary violent push" in my reflection on existential dread is exactly that: a rupture in our familiar reality. It is a forceful reminder that the life we are living is no longer serving us—that we are born into a world devoid of inherent meaning and tasked with the responsibility of creating our meaning. This "push" could be anything: a sudden illness, a job loss, the end of a relationship, a global pandemic—anything that shakes us out of our complacency and forces us to confront the existential truth of our freedom.

But this is not to say only a change of course is always noble, or that maintaining the status quo is wrong. Choosing not to break up, not to divorce, to stay put where we are—these are all legitimate, potentially noble, and preferable choices. But we must actively acknowledge them as a choice we made out of will. We must stand tall, look inward, and declare: "I have thought about it, and I CHOOSE this. I take responsibility for what comes next.” We can say: “I confidently and proudly choose inaction this time." That declaration, made with self-awareness, is as worthy of respect as any bold action. If you're currently caught in the grip of indecision, feeling that existential dread and asking, "What should I do?", I am afraid as a fellow human I cannot offer a simple answer. Like you, I share in the human condition of being “condemned to be free." But within that apparent paradox lies the exhilarating truth of authentic existence. Sartre, too, offered no easy solutions; instead, he challenged us to embrace the discomfort of our freedom, to acknowledge that we are the authors of our own lives.

The first step, then, is to recognize the seductive allure of "bad faith"—to acknowledge its presence, even if we're not yet ready to break free. The "intoxicating optimism" I felt might have been an early glimpse of this liberation. It has been exhilarating to feel, even momentarily, the profound gift of such freedom. I find myself holding it in one palm, while the other grasps the terror that accompanies such a gift—honoring both.

The doors are open, and I know that when I'm ready, I too will leap. 

A Caveat

It strikes me that this notion of "condemnation to freedom" might sound like a rather bourgeois struggle, a luxury of thought only available to those who do not have to worry about where their next meal is coming from. What about those who are severely oppressed, grappling with poverty, facing systemic discrimination and marginalization every single day? When you're struggling to feed yourself and your family, where is the time or space to ponder existential guilt and the burden of freedom? It's a valid critique.

And yet, even in acknowledging this, it feels important to remember Viktor Frankl's observation that even in the Nazi concentration camps—where freedom was stripped away to its barest bones—he and his fellow prisoners still found they had a choice: a choice in how they faced their suffering. Perhaps, then, even within the very real constraints of social and political structures, there exists a space, however small, to decide how we meet the challenges before us. Perhaps.

"The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion." - Albert Camus

A Different Kind of Freedom

A few days have passed since that deep dive into Sartre. The echoes of his "condemnation to freedom" are still with me but then I found myself thinking about the Chinese philosopher Zhuangzi.  And somehow, I find more solace in his teachings than the solemn reminder of Sartre.

Sartre's "condemnation of freedom" leaves us staring into the abyss of our agency, burdened by the responsibility of forging meaning in a meaningless world.  But Zhuang Zhi reminds me I can see this freedom not as a burden but as an invitation to a different kind of dance.  

There is a similar concept in his work that is often translated by Western scholars as freedom, called "Xiaoyao" (逍遥). It is also translated as "carefree wandering" or "transcendent freedom." Indeed, something about translating Xiaoyao just as freedom does not quite feel sufficient.

While Sartre leaves us wrestling with the weight of our existential dread, Zhuangzi, like most Daoist thinkers, points toward a path of acceptance and effortless action. He suggests that true freedom might lie not in striving to impose our will on the world, but in aligning ourselves with the natural flow of nature.

This concept of "Xiaoyao" permeates many of Zhuangzi's whimsical tales, including the famous parable of Cook Ding—a story familiar to most Chinese students from their high school days. Cook Ding, a master butcher, is tasked with disassembling an ox for the king. His demonstration is nothing short of magical. He moves with such grace and precision, his blade gliding effortlessly through the animal, that the king—a man who has presumably witnessed all manner of skills and wonders—is mesmerized. Compelled by what he has seen, the king asks, "How can your skill be so divine?"

Cook Ding doesn't attribute his prowess to mere technique. He explains that he sees beyond the physical ox. He sees the spaces between the joints, the gaps in the bone, and the pathways of least resistance. He moves not through the ox, but with it, his blade a whisper following the natural flow of the animal's form. Cook Ding has gone beyond the brute force of sawing and hacking. He had learned to "work with the Dao" – the natural order of the universe, the inherent flow of all things. His every cut was an act of alignment, not force.

Years passed. Cook Ding’s contemporaries, who once scoffed, now struggle to keep their blades sharp, their knives dulled by brute force. Cook Ding, however, seems to defy the passage of time.  

This is xiaoyao—a state of effortless action, of perfect harmony between the self and the world. It is about moving beyond the limitations of conscious effort and tapping into a deeper understanding, a flow state where action becomes instinctual, effortless, and even divine. 

Many misunderstand Zhuangzi, interpreting his philosophy as a call to retreat and passivity. But "Xiaoyao" is not about escaping the world or the responsibilities Sartre so keenly identified. It is not about simply accepting abuse or injustice. Instead, echoing Stoic wisdom, it encourages us to shift our focus away from what we cannot control, and turn our attention to what we can—our inner landscape. It is about cultivating resilience and adaptability, enabling us to thrive amidst life's inevitable constraints and even its terribleness.

This is anything but passive. Xiaoyao is an active claim of internal freedom, a way to navigate the storms of our time and find freedom within pain. It takes practice, diligent self-reminders, and a firm grasp of spiritual wisdom.

In a world obsessed with control and achievement, we often find ourselves battling against the natural rhythms of life. By embracing Xiaoyao, and working with, rather than protesting against, the natural order of things, we can find a deeper, more enduring freedom.

Zhuangzi's "Xiaoyao" does not negate the weight of our choices, as Sartre reminds us. Instead, it offers a way to navigate that freedom with grace and resilience, transforming the burden of choice into a dance with the very nature of existence.

So now, as we stand at the crossroads—the wreckage of the familiar before us, the allure of the unknown shimmering from that swinging door at the corner of our vision—what's next? Perhaps Sartre and Zhuangzi, those seeming opposites, are not so far apart after all. For it is in confronting the weight of our choices, as Sartre demands, that we discover the need for Zhuangzi's gentle wisdom.

We learn that true freedom lies not in fighting what is happening but in mastering the art of surrender—not a passive resignation, but an active choice to align with the most authentic call from within. When we are courageous enough to be truly free, the dance of the next half of our lives can begin.

“Life begins on the other side of despair.” - Satre

Facing the Abyss: Reflection Prompts and Thought Experiments to Navigate Existential Dread

Now that we have gone through all the theories, I wonder if some of the following reflection prompts or ‘thought experiments’ may be able to bring this home for you. Especially if you are facing some kind of existential dread—

If you do currently feel the weight of your existential dread, what is the texture of your existential dread? How does it manifest physically, emotionally, and mentally? What specific thoughts and images arise when you experience this dread? Are there particular times or situations when it's most prominent?

Has existential dread ever served as a "necessary violent push" in your life, jolting you out of complacency? If so, what form did this push take? How did it force you to confront your own existence?

Recall a time when you consciously chose inaction. How did that experience influence your understanding and relationship with the concept of free will?

In what ways do you find yourself slipping into "bad faith"? What masks do you wear, and what roles do you play, to avoid confronting your authentic value?

Consider your limited time. Calculate your estimated remaining lifespan in weeks: (80 - your age) * 52. (A formula I borrow from author Jodi Wellman) What does this number evoke in you? What can you accomplish within this timeframe? What thoughts and feelings arise when you confront this reality?

Imagine your life force reaching zero after this time. What does this stark realization bring up for you?

If the awareness of our limited time fuels existential dread, can embracing impermanence (as in Daoism) offer a path to peace? Can you find beauty and meaning in the transient nature of existence, especially considering your limited time?

Given the reality of your limited time, what would you do if you knew, with absolute certainty, that you could not fail? What currently gives you the most energy, knowing that time is precious?

(A quick note, I am aware that Xiao Yao was pronounced wrongly in the video. It should be something more like "Xiao Ya--oou"!)