Controlled Chaos: Finding Meaning in the Dark

Last night, something extraordinary happened at work. For context, I work at an enormous power plant—a place that hums with energy in every sense of the word. But in an instant, it all stopped. The plant went completely dark.

Emergency lights flickered on near the doorways, casting long shadows through the cavernous spaces, but most of the plant was swallowed in absolute pitch black. The sudden loss of our most abundant resource—energy—left us all disarmed. People stood motionless, holding fragile, expensive parts in their hands, unsure of their next step. Chaos seemed inevitable.

And yet, something remarkable unfolded.

In the absence of light, we found each other. Conversations sparked, voices guided hands, and the raw energy of human connection began to take shape. What could have devolved into panic instead became an hour of collaboration, as if the darkness reminded us of a truth we often overlook: our most vital resource isn’t external. It’s the energy we share when we interact, adapt, and create together.

This one hour—the darkest hour—became the most influential of my time there. It revealed that no matter how advanced the systems, no matter how reliant we are on external power, the plant was ultimately built by human hands. If we had to, we could build it again, starting with nothing but each other and the will to move forward.

This is controlled chaos.

Chaos as the Sculptor’s Companion

Controlled chaos is the edge we live on every moment of our lives. It’s where we find meaning, not by avoiding uncertainty, but by stepping into it and shaping it.

For me, stone carving embodies this truth. When I begin a piece, I’m stepping into the unknown. I start with a space—some rocks, some tools—and I navigate a million micro-decisions. Every tap of the chisel is a balance between control and surrender, an act of listening to the stone as much as shaping it. The chaos is ever-present, and yet it’s comforting because it holds possibility.

I often think of animals during this process, especially the ones I carve. They’ve mastered the art of living in chaos, surviving countless “dark nights” with an effortless grace. Their existence reminds us that play and survival aren’t opposites—they’re part of the same dance. They move through life with an unbroken rhythm that’s timeless, aspirational.

As humans, we have much to learn from them.

The Shared Energy of Creation

This is the heart of my work. Whether I’m carving a bear, an owl, or another creature that emerges from the stone, I’m reminded that we’re all navigating our own forms of controlled chaos. The process isn’t just about reaching a polished outcome—it’s about embracing the imperfections along the way, the unexpected connections, and the shared moments of effort that bring meaning to our lives.

Just as we found each other in the dark at the plant, we can find each other in the chaos of life. With nothing but a space, some rocks, and tools in hand, we can create something meaningful. Something that reminds us of our shared humanity, our resilience, and our innate drive to turn even the darkest moments into something beautiful.

Controlled chaos is where we thrive. It’s where we connect. It’s where we create.

Let’s keep finding each other in the dark.