As a Senior Project Manager in Logistics, my entire professional existence is predicated on control. I don’t just "drive" the car of my life; I inspect the chassis, optimize the fuel consumption, and map the route with three contingency plans for traffic. In my world, if a shipment from Shenzhen is delayed, it triggers a cascade of failures that costs my company six figures. My brain is wired for Critical Path Method (CPM) thinking: identify the bottleneck, eliminate the variable, and force the outcome. I am a control freak of the highest order because, in my line of work, lack of control gets you fired.
My anxiety manifests as "over-functioning." When the 2024 layoffs began sweeping through the supply chain sector, my department was put under the microscope. We weren't just dealing with rumors; we were dealing with Q3 budget slashes and frozen requisitions. Naturally, I went into "fixer" mode. I didn't just worry; I executed a personal risk mitigation strategy that bordered on mania:
- 12:00 AM: Reviewing Gantt charts to prove my team’s efficiency.
- 2:00 AM: Reformatting my resume to match ATS algorithms for competitors.
- 4:00 AM: Running mental simulations of severance negotiation scenarios.
I was trying to hold up the sky, convinced that if I stopped pushing for even one second, the entire infrastructure of my life would collapse. I equated high-stress output with safety. I thought I was managing the crisis, but I was actually redlining my engine while the car was in park.
The Car Wash Audit
The system failure happened in the most mundane location: a gleaming automated car wash on a Tuesday afternoon. I drove my sedan onto the track, and the attendant pointed aggressively to the neon sign: PUT CAR IN NEUTRAL. HANDS OFF WHEEL.
For a logistics manager, "Neutral" is a terrifying gear. It represents a total loss of agency. As the rollers caught my front tires, my hand twitched violently toward the steering wheel. I wanted to steer. I wanted to brake. I wanted to correct the alignment. It took genuine physical exertion to keep my hands in my lap. Sitting there in the darkness of the tunnel, with the heavy brushes thumping against the glass, I realized the absurdity of my spiritual posture.
I heard that internal prompt - the one I usually drown out with podcasts and conference calls: “Why is it so hard for you to let me drive?”
I realized then that Psalm 46:10 ("Be still, and know that I am God") is not a suggestion to be quiet. It is a command to cease operations. The Hebrew root for "be still" is raphah, which doesn't mean "meditate." It literally means "drop your hands" or "slacken your grip." It is the instruction to stop white-knuckling the wheel.
I sat there crying behind my sunglasses while the "Triple Foam Polish" sprayed over the windshield. I had been trying to steer through a tunnel I didn't build and couldn't control. I had confused "being busy" with "being effective." In logistics, we call this waste in the system. Being still isn't about passivity; it’s an aggressive act of trust. It’s the muscle memory of taking your hands off the wheel when the mechanism moving you is stronger than your own horsepower.
Implementing the "Neutral Prayer" Protocol
Since that day in the car wash, I haven't stopped being a Project Manager, but I have changed my Standard Operating Procedures (SOPs) regarding worry. I didn't stop looking for job security - prudence is still a virtue - but I stopped the frantic, soul-crushing anxiety that comes from trying to play God.
I started practicing what I call "Neutral Prayers." It is a deliberate workflow I use when the anxiety spikes during quarterly reviews or when a major contract falls through. Here is the process:
- Visualize the Gear Shift: I sit for five minutes and mentally visualize shifting my internal transmission from "Drive" to "Neutral."
- The Physical Release: I physically open my hands on my desk, palms up. This correlates to the Hebrew raphah - dropping the hands.
- The Transfer of Liability: I say, "Okay, God. You move the car. I am just the passenger. This outcome is outside my scope of work."
It is terrifying. It feels counter-intuitive to everything my career has taught me about ownership and responsibility. But it is the only way to get through the wash without crashing. When I stopped trying to force the outcome of the layoffs, I found I had more mental bandwidth to actually do my job well today, rather than obsessing over a hypothetical tomorrow.
Faith, for the professional, is not about abandoning the plan. It’s about recognizing who the ultimate Architect of the project actually is. Sometimes, the most productive thing you can do is take your hands off the wheel.
