Sure, it’s a kind of cosmic irony. A battle plan looks like a blank slate, but the ink was there when the stars were still aligning. We draft, we tweak, we feel the weight of inevitability pressing on our choices. It’s as if destiny wrote the outline and we are merely the footnotes, scribbling with our own stubborn hands. So maybe we’re not free, but at least we’re awake enough to notice the handwriting.