By Adam Jacobs, feedyourhead.blog

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

—The Serenity Prayer, Reinhold Niebuhr

Most of us are at war with reality. We just don’t know it yet.

Niebuhr’s brief prayer has long struck me as a near perfect encapsulation of one of the most critical areas of life’s work. In a tweet length musing, he captures both the enormous challenge, and opportunity, of gaining that elusive state of being called peace of mind.

It’s that first clause that’s the kicker. Though I actively work on it, in surveying the landscape of my inner world, I can’t help but notice my instinctual vehemence to change stuff. If I’m ruffled by something someone has said I often strategize ways of “educating” the person in front of me (either directly or covertly). If the developments in the news are “bad” I feel an urge to address it somehow but am often at a loss as to what exactly that might be. And God forbid there’s a health issue involving someone I really care about; then solvable or not I become a gladiator of “action.”

True enough, there are many things that do appear changeable and it seems more than reasonable to give it your utmost when it’s something important. But as you may have noticed in yourself or from others that even extreme effort does not guarantee the result that you want. What then? Is it better to rail against the futility a la Dylan Thomas’s exhortation to “Rage against the dying of the light?” In other words, should you lean into the “pissed off” or, should you figure out how to be genuinely contented in your unhoped for outcome?

In thinking about this I find myself drawn to the biggest hit single off of Stephen Stills’s eponymous solo album “Love the One You’re With.” He sets up the issue simply enough:

If you’re down and confused. And you don’t remember who you’re talkin’ to. Concentration slip away. Because your baby is so far away

Right, so it’s natural to be down and confused when the person you want or need is far away. Maybe this person has ghosted Stephen, maybe she’s dead, or maybe she’s just a transient hippie, who knows? It’s awful to miss someone. Mr. Thomas would look at this situation and encourage Mr. Stills to “Not Go Gentle into That Good Night.” Take the pain Stephen! That’s where the meaning is (and perhaps it is) but Stills took a different approach:

Well, there’s a rose in a fisted glove. And the eagle flies with the dove. And if you can’t be with the one you love, honey Love the one you’re with

“Look at the silver linings Dylan” I hear him saying. Each crummy situation has a great opportunity. It’s so simple it’s genius. If you can’t be with the one you love (for whatever reason) love the one you’re with. This is Niebuhr clause one to a t. This is the seed of serenity. Whether it’s a person or a circumstance, why not? So you didn’t want it like this; so what? Why not try loving it?

I suspect that part of the reason is that it’s much easier to rage than to love. There’s a certain security in emotional battle whereas serene acceptance requires a good deal of courage. Maybe that’s why it’s so rare.

Anyone who takes the time to explore the landscape of the mind will likely discover that there are a few things you hold so habitually tightly that to unclench from them might feel excruciating—an abusive parent, a romantic betrayal, a shattered dream—why should I let it go? How could I possibly forgive? I’d be lying if I said I don’t get it, I do. But more and more I am experiencing the true weight; the real world consequences of gripping things so hard. Not going gently into that good night might mean that you go there harder and faster than you think.

At the core of every wisdom tradition is the spiritual technology of non-attachment. The Buddhists call clinging upadana — the root of suffering. The Stoics practiced amor fati, the love of fate, embracing whatever comes as exactly what was needed. In Jewish thought, bitachon — deep trust in God’s providence — is the antidote to the anxiety of needing outcomes to go our way. It’s there not because it opiates an otherwise immiserating reality but because it illuminates the most fruitful ways of operating in a system where gain and loss are a feature and not a bug.

There are a few things that are really worth being attached to; family, love, justice, meaning, transcendence. We should strive to make changes that promote all of them. There are also many things that are not worth attaching to. Both categories are largely independent of our influence.

May we all have the wisdom to know the difference.

Keywords; psychology, traditions