The Power of “Oh Well”

I remember asking Dad once why my brother Rick had to leave us and join the Army. Dad simply replied that Rick made a decision that required him to go. Then he paused, shrugged his shoulders, and said, “Oh well.”

I kept thinking that was a really misplaced “oh well.” It felt dismissive. Like he didn’t care that our family was being split apart.

But over the years, I came to understand what Dad was actually teaching us with those two words—and more importantly, what he wasn’t saying.

What “Oh Well” Actually Meant

Rick joining the Army? That was Rick’s decision to make. Dad couldn’t change it. Getting angry or anxious or trying to control Rick’s choice wouldn’t bring him home. It would just drain everyone’s energy and strain the relationship.

So Dad chose acceptance. Not indifference—acceptance. He acknowledged the reality, felt whatever he felt about it, and then focused his energy on what he could actually influence: staying connected to Rick, supporting him in his decision, and being there when he needed us.

This wasn’t cold detachment. It was wisdom about where to invest your emotional energy so you have something left to give where it matters.

How This Shows Up Today

When an investor calls to express worry about market volatility, I don’t shrug and say “oh well, nothing we can do.” I listen. I take their anxiety seriously. I explain what’s happening and why. And then I help them focus on what we can actually control together: reminding them why we built our business around assets that simply don’t move with the market, and whether this moment is actually proof of that thesis. The worry is valid, but where we point it matters.

The “oh well” isn’t about the client’s feelings. It’s about the market itself. I can’t control a 10% drop. But I can absolutely control how we respond to it, how we communicate about it, and whether we let short-term volatility derail a long-term plan.

When a colleague comes to me frustrated about another firm’s new service, I don’t say “oh well, who cares.” I care that they’re frustrated. I care about staying competitive. What I don’t do is spiral into anxiety about what another firm is doing—something I have zero control over. Instead, we focus on what we can control: are we delivering real value to our clients? Are we staying true to our principles? Are we solving the problems we’re uniquely positioned to solve?

When a potential investor passes on Abacus, that stings. Every time. I don’t dismiss it with a casual “oh well.” I debrief with the team. We ask what we could have done better. We learn from the experience. And then—and this is the “oh well” part—we let go of trying to control their decision and refocus our energy on the investors and clients who do want to work with us.

The Difference Between Dismissive and Discerning

Being dismissive says: “Your concerns don’t matter.” Being discerning says: “Your concerns absolutely matter, and here’s what we can actually do about them.”

Being dismissive says: “I don’t care about this problem.” Being discerning says: “I care deeply, which is exactly why I’m focusing on the parts of this problem I can actually solve.”

Dad wasn’t teaching us not to care. He was teaching us to care effectively. To recognize when emotional energy is serving you—driving you toward constructive action—and when it’s draining you without producing results.

What You Can Actually Control

These concerns are legitimate. The anxiety is real. But here’s what Dad understood: anxiety about things you can’t control doesn’t protect you from those outcomes. It just exhausts you before you get there.

His lesson was simpler: acknowledge what you can’t control, then focus your actual energy on what you can.

You can’t control how long you’ll live, but you can control your health habits today. You can’t control market returns, but you can control your savings rate and asset allocation. You can’t control whether people make the decisions you’d want them to make, but you can control whether you’re there to support them when they need you.

The “oh well” isn’t about not caring. It’s about caring so much that you refuse to waste your limited energy on things that won’t respond to your effort—because you’re saving that energy for the things that will.