You Shouldn’t Do Something Just Because Other People Want You To: A Story of Conscious Choice driven by "Yes…And"

I grew up in apartheid South Africa, a place and time that bred compliance.

As a young white male, conscription into the army was mandatory. At sixteen, I had to register, and I did - without question. Back then, I was too naive to recognise that this wasn’t just how things were; it was how they were made to appear.

I know I could have said no. But I didn’t. I followed the path laid out for me because I was made to believe I had no choice. I was taught to choose conformity, sculpted and suffocated by a policed state.

This has shaped much of my adult life, driving me to make conscious choices that align with my values, purpose, and who I am.

The Weight of Compliance

In high school, we studied a subject called Moral Preparedness. The boys marched on fields; the girls learned needlework. It was subtle, manipulative conditioning - teaching us that men were destined for the battlefield and women for the home.

It was another tool of a regime that wanted to mould its citizens to fit its oppressive machinery.

I was moulded too. My upbringing was steeped in privilege, but it blinded me to the atrocities happening around me. I wasn’t raised in an activist household. I didn’t question the system; I followed the script.

Even when I deferred my conscription for university, I knew the day would come when I’d have to face the army. “It’ll make you into a man,” people said. But I didn’t want to be that kind of man.

Fighting Back in My Way

When I was called to Upington, an isolated post in the Northern Cape, I was terrified.

The idea of being stuck in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by "the system" and its bullies (as a closeted gay man), filled me with dread. I knew I had to find a way out, or at least make the situation bearable.

I took every opportunity to avoid the system’s full force. During medical evaluations, I feigned asthma, collapsing during drills and parades. Though they couldn’t officially diagnose me with anything serious, I managed to secure a G3K3 classification - restricted duties. It wasn’t the full escape I longed for.

Eventually, I landed a role in the camp canteen. I wasn’t marching or wielding a weapon; I was handing out sweets and condensed milk. It was a job that allowed me some semblance of control, and I made the most of it. It wasn’t freedom, but it was a conscious choice to rebel (as much as I could) against a totalitarian system.

I could have become a contentious objector, but as a white male, I would have been picked up by the Military Police and taken to an MP camp. A prison camp.

Conscious Choices in a Confined System

The choices I made during my conscription were born of necessity, but they taught me that, even within constraints, I could find ways to live as I choose.

I didn’t realise it at the time, but I was practising a version of the yes…and principle.

In improvisational theatre, yes…and means accepting what’s offered and building on it. It’s about embracing what’s in front of you - not with resignation but with curiosity and creativity.

Sarah Creevey, MSc (MAPP), ACC and I explore this in my latest podcast: Yes and: rediscover the joy of playfulness.

I couldn’t change the system, but I could navigate it in ways that aligned with who I was - or at least, who I was trying to become.

I was no hero. I didn’t stand up and shout my opposition to apartheid. I didn’t march in the streets. But it was my small way of asserting my humanity within an inhumane system.

I was saying yes to survival - and adding my own twist to the story.

The Struggle with Self-Judgment

For years, I carried the shame of my compliance. Why didn’t I fight harder? Why didn’t I resist more boldly? Growing up in apartheid South Africa in the 1980s, I internalised the culture of judgment - toward myself, toward others, toward my own privilege.

Thirty years on, one evening, over dinner on my Leader Speaker Retreats with a group of entrepreneurs, I shared this story of guilt. “I feel ashamed for not doing more,” I admitted. “Ashamed of my family for their silence. Ashamed of myself for my complicity.”

A client’s simple matter-of-fact response blew me away. “Deon, you need to forgive your parents. And you need to forgive yourself.”

Those words hit me like a tsunami. I’d been choosing guilt and shame, clinging to them as if they were badges of penance.

But in that moment, I saw another choice: forgiveness. It was liberating.

A Challenge for You: Practice Yes…And

A yes…and mindset is not about agreeing with everything or ignoring your values. It’s about being open to possibilities and building on them with intention.

In business, this attitude has transformed the way I communicate. Instead of shutting down ideas with “yes, but,” I try to build on them, encouraging creativity and collaboration. When teams feel heard and valued, they thrive. And so do I. So do you.

If you’ve never tried it, I encourage you to experiment with a yes…and mindset. For an hour - or even just a meeting - start every response with “yes…and.” Notice how it changes the energy in the room. Notice how it changes you.

Conversely, try a yes…but approach. See how quickly it stifles creativity and connection. The difference is stark.

You shouldn’t do something just because others want you to

That doesn’t mean rebellion for rebellion’s sake. It means making conscious choices - choices that serve your values, your purpose and who you are.

Even in the most constrained circumstances, there’s room for agency. There’s room for yes…and.

It’s not about escaping reality but engaging with it in ways that honour who you are and who you want to become.

I realised my tiny acts of rebellion during conscription weren’t just survival tactics. They were the seeds of a lifelong commitment to conscious choice.

Today, I carry that commitment into every decision I make. And I invite you to do the same.

Say yes to your circumstance - and then ask, what can I add to make this truly mine?