I always feel like my MBTI is a construct, a mask worn by the Clay character I created to navigate past the painful shyness and deep-rooted introversion that once shackled me. I can recall, with vivid clarity, the day the split occurred. There I was, pinging across Central Area, a bundle of stress and self-loathing, trapped within the austere confines of West Point. I despised every aspect of my life at that moment. And then, in a metaphorical flash of light, a voice—my voice—erupted from within, proclaiming, “NO MORE!”

In that instant, I shed my stress like old skin. I stopped caring about outcomes, adopting instead a laissez-faire attitude, an ethos of “whatever happens, happens.” It felt like surrender, but not the kind that marks defeat; it was a release, an acceptance of a force greater than myself. I guess you could say it was then that I became a believer in Fate, embracing its inevitability with open arms.

But do I still believe in Fate? It’s a question that lingers in the quiet moments, and for the most part, I think I do. On a macro level, I believe our actions are orchestrated by Fate’s invisible hand. Yet, on a micro-level, free will dances through our decisions. I imagine it like being on a cruise ship: you have the freedom to roam its decks, choosing where to linger, where to explore. But the ship’s course is set, its destination preordained, regardless of your whims or desires.

You could, theoretically, jump off the ship, just as one might choose to end their life. At first glance, such an act seems to scream free will. But what if even that drastic choice is part of Fate’s grand design? What if that moment, that seemingly autonomous decision, was etched in the cosmic blueprint long before you were aware of its existence?

This brings me to a historical and philosophical parallel: Judas Iscariot. Poor Judas, forever marked as the betrayer. Was it truly his choice to betray Jesus, or was he doomed to fulfil that role from the very beginning? It was his Fate, some might argue, a necessary cog in the divine machinery that led to Jesus’s ultimate sacrifice. Judas’s betrayal was not just an act of free will but a pivotal moment in a story much larger than himself.

Reflecting on this, I wonder if our lives are similarly scripted. Are we mere actors playing out roles assigned by a higher power, our choices preordained to fulfil a greater purpose? Or is there room for improvisation, for genuine choice within the bounds of our Fate?

The tension between Fate and free will is a dance, a delicate balance. And perhaps it is in this dance that the true essence of life unfolds. We are, simultaneously, masters of our immediate steps and passengers on a journey beyond our control.