We don't talk about responsibility nearly as much as we should. Not real responsibility. Not the kind that reshapes who you are from the inside out.
In our culture, we tend to equate responsibility with fault. Something to avoid, assign, or offload. But real responsibility isn't about blame; it's about ownership.
It's about willingly carrying the weight of things that matter.
Responsibility isn't something life hands you. It's something you choose to pick up. You don't take responsibility because it's convenient or easy. You take it because doing so transforms you. It gives your actions meaning, your suffering purpose, and your relationships depth.
Over the past few years—through marriage, fatherhood, the military, and hard-won personal growth—I've come to believe that responsibility is the foundation of everything good. It's the cornerstone of freedom, strength, legacy, fulfillment, and love.
In a world addicted to comfort, distracted by ease, and allergic to hardship, responsibility offers a radically different path: one of weight, but also one of purpose.
This article is my attempt to lay it all out. I want to explore what responsibility means to me, where it shows up, how it shapes character, and why it might be the only thing worth chasing in a world offering shortcuts.
Useful, Not Fair
One of the most liberating ideas I've ever internalized is that I can take responsibility for things even if they aren't my fault.
At first, this sounds backward. Why would anyone want to take responsibility for something they didn't cause?
Because doing so gives you power. It gives you agency. It gives you a path forward.
I divide responsibility into two categories: what I can control and what I can't. But I don't stop there. I often take ownership even over things I can't control because it's more useful than the alternative.
If a close friend of mine spirals into addiction or depression, I might not be the cause, but I still ask myself what I could've done differently. Could I have been more present? Could I have checked in sooner? Offered support in a better way? Not because I'm to blame but because bearing some of that weight keeps me grounded. It makes me better going forward.
This is where I draw the line between what's true and what's useful. The truth might be that I had no control over what happened. But what's useful is asking, How do I move forward from here in a grounded, focused, and honorable way?
Responsibility, in this sense, becomes a tool. Not a sentence. It lets me act, even when I can't change the past.
Blame is paralyzing. Responsibility is empowering. The former says someone else must fix this. The latter says I'm willing to start.
The Illusion of Happiness and the Reality of Fulfillment
I don't think most people want to be "happy." At least, not in the way they say they do. When someone says, "I just want to be happy," they usually mean that they want peace, purpose, or maybe just a break from suffering.
But happiness, real, sustainable happiness, isn't a goal you can chase directly. It's a byproduct of meaning. And meaning comes from responsibility.
We've been sold a version of happiness: all dopamine and no discipline. It's the kind that evaporates as soon as things get hard. But fulfillment, that's different.
Fulfillment is earned. And in my experience, the surest path to fulfillment is to voluntarily accept as much responsibility as you can carry.
This is where I think a lot of modern self-help goes wrong. It teaches people to avoid discomfort and to curate their lives for maximum convenience. But the paradox is that fulfillment often comes from doing the opposite: leaning into the hard thing.
That's the deeper meaning of responsibility. It's not a punishment; it's a privilege. When you see it that way, you realize it was never about being "happy." It was about becoming whole.
Past and Future Selves
Responsibility doesn't just stretch outward; it stretches through time. I am responsible not only to the people around me but also to my past and future self.
Think about it: I didn't get here alone. I got me here. The version of me from two years ago worked hard to earn a degree, get certified, and stay disciplined when quitting would've been easier.
So, who am I to throw that effort away by coasting? Who am I to betray the sacrifices I've already made by choosing comfort over growth?
There's also the future to think about. What kind of man am I setting my future self up to be? What kind of life am I building for him? Am I making decisions today that will give him strength, peace, and options, or am I just pushing problems down the line for him to deal with?
This kind of temporal responsibility creates a "community of selves." Past-me worked hard so present-me could have opportunities. Present-me works hard so future-me has something to stand on. It's a relay race, and I don't want to drop the baton.
But it's not just about me. I also believe we owe something to our family name and those who came before us. I was born a Marshall. That name means something to me. It's not just a label. It's a legacy.
And while I don't think legacy means blind loyalty or living in the past, I do believe it means gratitude. Gratitude for my father. For his father. For the men and women who lived, worked, sacrificed, and raised the next generation, whether perfectly or imperfectly.
We're not born into this world with a clean slate. We're born with a debt. Some might frame that in religious terms, like original sin.
I think of it more as inherited responsibility, a tab that can only be repaid by how we live. We honor the past by refusing to waste the present. We build the future by doing what needs to be done right now.
Responsibility as Freedom
A popular idea (especially among young people) is that responsibility is the enemy of freedom.
I hear it all the time. Some people don't want kids because they want to "do whatever they want, whenever they want." They see freedom as the absence of limits. But that version of freedom is shallow and, honestly, miserable.
The truth is that real freedom doesn't come from avoiding commitment. It comes from choosing the right commitments and taking them seriously.
Take fatherhood. Yes, it comes with responsibility. Yes, it forces you to prioritize. But it also gives your life a sense of structure and direction, making real freedom possible.
I don't waste time on things I don't care about anymore, not because I can't, but because I have something more important to say yes to.
That's the paradox: the more responsibility you take on, the more clarity you gain. And with clarity comes freedom. The freedom to stop chasing distractions, the freedom to say no, the freedom to focus on what matters most.
Parenthood, marriage, vocation, these aren't chains. They're anchors. They keep you grounded in a world that's constantly trying to sweep you away.
What Masculinity Owes the World
As men, we have a duty to protect and provide, not just for women and children, but for the vulnerable, the elderly, and younger men who haven't yet found their footing.
It's our job to teach boys how to become men. To model strength, humility, discipline, and service. We don't get to opt out of that just because the culture tells us masculinity is outdated or problematic.
The truth is, when good men step back, bad men step in. And the world suffers for it.
We also have a responsibility to those who came before us. We're standing on ground built by men who fought, bled, and died for something bigger than themselves.
Whether you agree with every war or policy is beside the point. These men died believing in an idea worth defending. We owe it to them to prove that their sacrifice wasn't wasted. That what they built is in good hands.
And we owe something to women, something sacred. Not because they're weaker but because they are uniquely powerful.
Women are the only ones capable of creating human life. That's not a metaphor; that's a miracle. From a religious perspective, God, the Creator, entrusted women with the ability to continue creation itself. That's something to protect. To honor.
Our role, as men, is to make the world safe enough for women to carry life and raise children. We are the shield. The wall. The provider of structure, safety, and support. That's not oppression; it's order. And when it's done with love and strength, it gives life the space to grow.
Think Before You Share
As AI and emerging technologies become more embedded in daily life, I don't see us heading toward some dystopian, apocalyptic future. I see something more subtle: augmentation.
These tools won't replace our reality; they'll layer over it. Help us do things faster, better, more efficiently. But with that comes a new kind of responsibility.
Take social media. Most people are waking up to the fact that it's not the friend-connecting utopia it was advertised to be.
Unless you're running a business or building a platform, it's mostly a time sink. However, platforms like Substack and X (Twitter) have become digital town squares—where authors, scientists, and thinkers gather to share ideas and shape narratives.
If you're sharing ideas, especially with a large audience, you have a responsibility to try to tell the truth. I say "try" because nobody gets it right 100% of the time. Mistakes are inevitable.
The problem with cancel culture is that it doesn't leave room for that. We throw away entire legacies because someone made one bad post, one off comment, or one public mistake. There should be something like a reputation bank. If someone's track record is 95% solid, they've earned a bit of grace. Charitability should scale with credibility.
But the responsibility isn't just on the people posting. It's also on the people consuming.
Even if you follow smart people and trust your sources, you still have to think critically. You can't outsource your judgment. Taking responsibility in a digital world means curating your inputs, questioning your biases, and remaining open to the idea that even your favorite thinkers can be wrong.
The tools aren't going away. But how we use them and let them shape us is still up to us.
They Don't Owe You Back
Few responsibilities are as sacred as being a parent. For at least the first year of life—and in many ways, for years beyond—children completely depend on the adults who brought them into the world.
They didn't choose their parents. This means the responsibility is fully on us to give them every tool, every lesson, every ounce of strength we can to help them stand on their own two feet someday.
And here's the part many people miss: children don't owe us for that. Not in the way most people think.
I've seen parents guilt their kids over college tuition, a car they bought, or a life they provided—as if those were favors, not responsibilities. But the truth is, no one forced you to do those things.
You made those decisions. You fulfilled your role. That was your job.
Your child doesn't owe you a paycheck for being a parent. They don't owe you a life of obedience or financial reimbursement.
They owe you something deeper: respect, honor, and effort. But even those are not guaranteed. They have to be taught.
Respect doesn't just happen because you gave someone your last name. It comes from the way you treat them. The way you model discipline, love, accountability, and presence. If a child grows up without respect, drive, or integrity, we shouldn't just look at the child. We should look at the parents.
Because, more often than not, the fruit reflects the root.
Strength in Choosing
There's a big difference between the responsibility you choose and the responsibility that's dropped on you.
We all experience both. Sometimes, life hands you situations you didn't ask for, such as family dynamics, financial struggles, and unexpected hardship. You step up because someone has to. That kind of responsibility builds toughness. It shows you what you're made of.
But I've found that the responsibility you volunteer for is the kind that builds identity.
No one forced me to become a husband or a father. No one made me pursue my career path or wake up every day and try to get better at it. I chose that. And that choice gave me direction.
Taking on responsibility willingly doesn't feel like a burden; it feels like a purpose.
People think freedom means avoiding responsibility, but the opposite is true. The responsibilities I chose gave me a reason to say no to the things I didn't want anyway. They gave structure to my days and meaning to my actions.
Be Someone You Can Count On
It's easy to talk about responsibility regarding others, family, society, and legacy. But a quieter kind of responsibility is just as important: your responsibility to yourself.
Sometimes, I think of it like this: my soul is just borrowing this body. One day, I'll give it back to the earth. And while I have it, I'm responsible for caring for it—not just physically, but mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. That doesn't mean keeping it in perfect condition. A few scratches and dents are a sign of a life well lived.
But the engine better be running strong.
That means I owe it to myself to move my body, eat well, keep learning, and surround myself with people who sharpen me. I owe it to myself to rest, reflect, and push back against the part of me that wants comfort. The truth is, comfort isn't always kind. Discipline, over time, turns into peace.
This self-responsibility isn't about being selfish; it's about stewardship. Because if I'm not taking care of myself, I'm no good to anyone else. And more than that, I'm betraying the only thing I actually own in this world: my effort.
Living well means showing up for yourself—not in some cliché self-love way, but in a way that says: I was given this life, and I intend to do something with it.
Kind, Not Coddling
One of the trickiest areas of responsibility is learning where your responsibility ends, and someone else's begins, especially when it comes to emotions.
I don't believe regulating how other people feel is my job. People get offended, upset, or uncomfortable for reasons that have nothing to do with intent or truth. That doesn't mean I'm free to be careless with my words or actions, but I don't take ownership of reactions I didn't cause.
There's a difference between being responsible and being a doormat. There's a difference between being honest and being cruel. And there's a difference between hurting someone and someone choosing to feel hurt.
Take comedy, for example. A thousand people can sit in a room and laugh, but if one person decides to be offended, that doesn't automatically mean the comedian crossed a line. It just means one person got offended.
We've lost the ability to separate our feelings from objective reality, and that's dangerous.
That said, being "not responsible" for someone else's emotions doesn't give you permission to be an asshole. There's still a moral line. You can speak the truth and still be kind. You can hold your ground and still show respect.
Emotional responsibility starts with yourself. If you don't like how something made you feel, start by asking why, not demanding that the world change to suit your sensitivities.
Likewise, if you're speaking or acting, ask yourself if you're trying to help or hurt under the guise of being "real."
Conclusion: Make It Mean Something
Responsibility isn't a punishment. It's not something to avoid, offload, or pass along like a hot potato. It's what gives your life structure, weight, and meaning. It's the thing that connects you to the people who came before you and the ones who'll come after.
It's what makes freedom real, gives love its power, and turns pain into purpose.
We live in a world that constantly tells us to chase comfort, convenience, and personal happiness. But none of those things last. None of them satisfy.
What does? Picking up the heaviest load you can carry and carrying it with intention. Owning your past, investing in your future. Showing up for your family, your community, your name, your body, and your values.
Responsibility is how you become trustworthy. It's how you become useful. It's how you become a person you can be proud of.
You don't have to carry everything. But you do have to choose something. The weight you carry will shape the life you live.
So choose well—and carry it with strength.
Very interesting. I will have to sit down with this one later and contemplate it. Although tech is not the main focus here, I think this essay supports my general anxieties about AI and algorithmic technologies. They go beyond making menial labor easier. AI, especially, seems like the ultimate offloading of responsibility: “I don’t have to care of myself, my family, my country, my world, because a computer can do it better than I can.”—a seductive argument whose truth is questionable. The points you elaborate on here add another dimension to think about—the important role responsibility plays for the person who is taking responsibility.