2021 grant me the serenity
I’m scared to admit how often I say the serenity prayer. I’ve now committed it to memory when once I could fumble along and not accept the truth behind it.
It is the first part I repeat the most. Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. Accepting the things I cannot change means to accept uncertainty. It means to live every day as it is, not falsely idealizing the future or refusing to abandon the past. In a year where everything hurts, I have not known how to stop searching for a time when things will be different just as I can’t stop myself from remembering the times I didn’t know I’d eventually take for granted.
I tell myself I cannot change what happened to our world. I cannot change the consequences that came from one country’s reaction to a global pandemic. I am only one of (how many?) affected by the factors we cannot change and yet I continue to feel small amongst large numbers - voices, cases, deaths.
I came into this year crawling into bed at a time that felt too late to fall asleep yet too early to wake. I don’t remember how I thought this year would turn out, though I’m sure I put too much expectation into its outcome in the days leading up to the last of the year. I wanted change that felt bigger than me.
I’ve always tried to maintain too many routines in order to ignore - I’m not sure what - reality, anxiety; they go hand in hand most days. When our lives came to a stop, so did the act of pretending. It wasn’t my choice or my courage to change the things I can could. It was imposed. A stay at home order put in place overnight confronted me with a loneliness I didn’t know existed. My job was gone and the happiness I always imagined would follow that reality was a lie. The social life I so desperately depended on grew more distant than six feet.
I ignored the possibility that maybe these were the things that should have been in my control, the things I should have had the courage to change long before I let my social life dictate my happiness. It has always been in my control to distance myself from the people who add nothing but negativity to my life. I let loneliness follow a stay at home order of its own in my mind and continued to let the things I could not change keep me unfulfilled. Those ways I’ve tried to mend with drinking more than heavily, finding company in trouble - the ones I’m not ready to put on the page.
It’s not until I finish the serenity prayer that I understand it entirely. Maybe the hardest part is possessing the wisdom to know the difference. Without it, we focus too much on the things we cannot change. Instead of courage we adopt fear and laziness to avoid the things we can. I tried to defy loneliness by packing up my studio and moving in with a friend, a decision that continues to prove itself as one of the better ones I’ve made in a long time. The lack of fulfillment travels a long way and teaches me harsh truths when it comes to visit. I can eliminate the ways I’ve brought about pain. I can find new stories to compliment my own. I can liquidate the toxicity disguised as tannins poured from a bottle and swirled in a glass.
I’ve stopped looking for an expiration date; stopped wondering when this year will run its course. Wisdom to know the difference means examining life with precaution and welcoming growth from failure. I won’t know if I’ve followed my own advice till next year, so for now, I’ll bookmark it in this essay.
Victoria Crowe is a writer, editor and founder of You Might Need To Hear This. Originally from Queens, NY, she studied creative writing in San Francisco and has since moved to Los Angeles. She writes both fiction and nonfiction and finds her poetry is usually decent after a bottle of wine. Her work has been published in Harness Magazine, Herstry Blog, and District Lit. She is currently finishing up her second novel and afterwards plans to start her first.
