There’s a question that keeps following me around.

It doesn’t show up when things are easy.
It doesn’t bother me when life is smooth.
It only appears when something needs doing and no one’s quite stepping forward.

If not you, then who?

I used to hate that question.
It feels heavy.
Confrontational.
A bit unfair.

Surely someone else is more qualified.
More rested.
More prepared.
More “meant” for it.

But over time, I’ve noticed something uncomfortable.

That someone else is usually imaginary.

Most of the time, responsibility doesn’t arrive with a formal invitation. It doesn’t tap you on the shoulder and say, “Excuse me, you’re the perfect person for this task.”

It just appears.
Messy.
Inconvenient.
Poorly timed.

And then it waits to see what you’ll do.

I’ve caught myself many times standing at that fork in the road.

One path is easy.
Ignore it.
Delay it.
Assume someone else will handle it.

The other path is heavier.
Step in.
Own it.
Accept that it’s now partially yours.

Neither path feels heroic.
One just feels quieter afterward.

Writing Don’t Be a Dick (book coming soon!) forced me to really sit with this idea. Responsibility isn’t about titles or authority. It’s about proximity. You’re closest to the problem. You’re aware of the need. You’re capable of doing something, even if it’s small.

That’s usually enough.

We love to talk about responsibility in abstract ways. Big ideas. Big gestures. Big moments. But most responsibility shows up in the small stuff.

The awkward conversation you don’t want to have.
The apology that’s overdue.
The help that’s needed but unglamorous.
The thing you see that could be better if someone just bothered.

That “someone” is often you.

I’ve noticed that my instinct used to be to look around first. To scan the room, the situation, the problem, and silently ask, “Is anyone else going to do something about this?”

These days, I try to catch that moment earlier.

Not with judgment.
Just with honesty.

If I’m here.
If I see it.
If I can help.

Then maybe that’s the answer.

That doesn’t mean doing everything.
It doesn’t mean fixing the world.
It doesn’t mean burning yourself out trying to be a hero.

Stoicism isn’t about martyrdom.
It’s about agency.

What’s within my control?
What’s within my capacity?
What’s mine to carry right now?

Sometimes the responsible thing is stepping up.
Sometimes it’s stepping back.
Sometimes it’s saying no.
Sometimes it’s saying, “I’ve got this.”

The key difference is that you’re choosing deliberately, not avoiding quietly.

There’s a strange peace that comes with accepting responsibility where it belongs. Even when it’s uncomfortable. Even when it stretches you.

Avoidance creates low-grade anxiety.
Ownership creates clarity.

I’ve felt both.

There were times I waited too long, hoping a problem would resolve itself. It didn’t. It just grew teeth. And when I finally dealt with it, the hardest part wasn’t the work. It was knowing I’d delayed something that was clearly mine to address.

On the other hand, there have been moments where I stepped in early, unsure, imperfect, slightly underprepared, and things moved forward simply because someone did something.

Not perfectly.
Just responsibly.

That’s the part people miss. Responsibility doesn’t require certainty. It requires willingness.

You don’t need to know the outcome.
You don’t need to feel confident.
You don’t need permission.

You just need to stop waiting for a better candidate to appear.

Most of the time, they won’t.

The Stoics believed that life keeps handing us chances to act well. Not dramatically. Repeatedly. In ordinary moments that don’t feel important until later.

This is one of those ideas that’s easy to agree with and harder to live.

Because responsibility competes with comfort.
With convenience.
With the part of us that wants to stay neutral and uninvolved.

But neutrality doesn’t build anything.
And it rarely leaves you feeling good afterward.

I’m not writing this as someone who gets it right all the time. I don’t. I still hesitate. I still avoid occasionally. I still hope problems solve themselves without my involvement.

The difference now is that when I catch myself doing that, I know exactly what’s happening.

I’m standing in front of that question again.

If not you, then who?

And more often than not, the answer is uncomfortable, clear, and annoyingly obvious.

If this gave you something to think about, feel free to forward it to someone who might appreciate it.
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Until next time,
Broden Johnson