When I was around ten years old, my dad gave me a plaque with the Prayer of Serenity on it. It was made of molded brown resin, its raised lettering picked out in creamy paint, a cluster of dogwood flowers and green leaves around its border.
God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I can not change,
courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.
At the time I didn’t know that it was a prayer for alcoholics, and maybe he didn’t either. I’m sure he got it from a thrift shop; lord knows why he felt it would make a good gift for a pre-teen girl, but I guess he was right because I liked it.
He hung it on my bedroom wall where I stared at it for years, pondering its meaning and trying to decide whether to buy into it. I definitely wanted the courage to change the things I can. I guess I saw value in the wisdom to know the difference, too. But I couldn’t imagine how accepting things I can’t change could ever bring me serenity. Frustration, disappointment, sure. Resignation, at best. But serenity? Seemed like a trick to make me quit arguing with my parents.
You might have noticed that I didn’t write my scheduled Substack post or send out a newsletter last weekend. This is because I was stuck in circumstances I could not change.
I’d just spent three days at the Omega Institute in a creative workshop called The Art of New Creation, led by Elizabeth Gilbert and Rob Bell. They were goofy and deep, approachable and inspiring. It was everything I’d hoped it would be.
When the workshop ended at midday Sunday, I got into my rental car and drove from the Hudson Valley to Newark airport to catch a flight home to Los Angeles. A flight that wound up being delayed, then delayed again, and again, before United finally canceled it at 1 a.m.
At first I tried to view the delay as “found time” and use it to get some writing done, but I couldn’t make any good words come out. Instead, I spent eight hours trawling Terminal B for new snack options, surreptitiously glancing over at Rob Bell (who happened to be waiting for the same flight), and ruminating on the concept of powerlessness.
In the workshop, Liz Gilbert had asked us to list some things we were powerless over.
My list included:
I’m powerless over other people’s opinions.
I’m powerless over climate change.
I’m powerless over what AI technology might do to humanity.
I’m powerless over the decisions of the current rights-destroying Supreme Court.
Liz invited a woman in the audience to read her list, which was a lot like mine; full of big, systemic, scary things that we wish we could change. She frowned as she read it, hesitant to commit. “Am I really powerless over climate change? I mean, what if I tried harder? Lay down in front of a bulldozer?”
Liz pointed out that the woman’s struggle just goes to show how attached we are to the ego’s myth of its own omnipotence, a myth that our society encourages us to double down on when things get tough. Faced with something that we cannot change, we often feel defeated and maybe even ashamed, as if the natural limitation of our power is a personal failure or character flaw. Or we may get stuck in anger or resentment that eats away at our ability to feel joy.
But, she said, there’s another way to look at powerlessness that brings a state of grace and, dare I say, serenity. Liz read from her own list.
I’m powerless over the fox that I saw outside my window this morning.
I’m powerless over the seasons.
I’m powerless over the fact that God loves me.
I’m powerless over the color blue; can’t do a thing about it.
Think about that for a second. I’m powerless over the color blue… Isn’t that such a blessing? Blue is just there for us; like it or not. Our little egos are constantly battling enormous forces far larger than we are with comical hubris. But imagine all the things in the world that we aren’t in charge of, don’t have to be in charge of! There is a merciful grace in surrendering to all of the good and beautiful things in the world, and even in surrendering to the fact of our human frailty. I think her point was that creativity — in life as well as in art — is more about allowing and listening than it is about forcing and controlling.
But we are not powerless over everything! In fact, we are immensely powerful. Not over the things we typically put the most effort into trying to control, like other people’s perceptions of us, or United Airlines’ terrible customer service. Railing against these things will wreck our serenity every time. The arena where we have all the power is the one in which we are least likely to exercise it: Our inner state and the stories we tell ourselves about what’s happening around us.
I have power over what I give my time and attention to.
I have power over my contribution to every conversation and situation I find myself in.
I have the power to define myself.
I have the power to reflect on my experiences and construct new, empowering narratives if the ones handed to me don’t feel true, or no longer serve me.
I have the power to make the most of whatever situation I find myself in.
I have the power to interpret others generously.
I have the power to open myself up to the love that is all around me.
I have power over how much effort I want to put in, and when to call it quits.
I have the power to accept reality, even if it’s not what I would have chosen.
I have the power to create something new.
Turns out these things add up to quite a lot of power over our own contentment or irritation levels.
Sitting there at Gate B72, chewing a room-temperature lentil wrap that I’d bought to eat on the plane, I thought about the cost of refusing to accept the things we cannot change.
It’s natural to have preferences and to try to make things go our way, which in fact they often do. But the fact is, sometimes we will go without. And we will inevitably lose what we once had, because everything (and everyone!) in this world is temporary and conditional. It is delusional (and oh so human) to insist that we should have power to make anything in the material world stay just the way we want it.
I can’t change the fact that there are storms over the Midwest causing travel disruption all across the country. I can’t change the fact that United Airlines is having a tough time staffing up after the pandemic. I can’t change the fact that I’m tired, that it’s midnight, that I don’t know what’s going to happen next, and that things might get worse before they get better. But I can choose to accept it all and find serenity.
And let’s flip this on its head and consider Liz’s list of things we are powerless over; the beautiful things we cannot change.
I cannot change the fact that growth and healing are real.
I cannot change the fact that I am free to believe, feel, and think for myself, regardless of circumstances.
I cannot change the fact that I am inherently worthy of love; that the God of my understanding loves me beyond measure already. I don’t need to make it happen and I can’t prevent it.
Temporary comfort or discomfort aside, I’m fundamentally safe in the universe. I am always whole, and always home within myself. And I’m powerless to change that.
I am powerless over the color blue.
God grant me the serenity to accept these things, too.
xo
What a wonderful summary. I was also at Omega that weekend, so many clear impactful takeaways that resonate even stronger today…kinda like the serenity prayer. ✨🙏
Thanks for sharing your insights. How often have I made disgruntled speeches in my head addressing things that didn’t go my way instead of accepting the things I camnot control or at least finding serenity in it.