What us reformed drinkers really wanted was the warm, wet blanket of oblivion. We wanted to change nothing and feel everything less. Or feel everything more. Or feel anything at all. You see, it’s not a one size fits all problem, but alcohol is something of a universal solution. It’s brilliant at providing temporary relief from all of the above. It’s the art of distraction delivered with double vision.
We can, however, deploy a tool to counter the intrusive thoughts and negative narratives that lead people to push the ‘fuck-it button’ and pick up a bottle. It’s the Swiss army knife of sobriety and it comes in the form of a religious or non-religious prayer, depending on your persuasion.
It’s the ‘live, laugh, love’ of lash and it’s stitched into the upholstery of every AA meeting. It’s the kind of thing your nan might crochet onto a cushion, or your therapist might whisper while charging £180 an hour to watch you cry into a box of tissues that smell of lavender and regret. It goes like this:
“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.”
It’s a fucking banger isn’t it. I use it. Much more frequently of late due to some of the bizarre choices my ex-wife continues to make. (Can you actually die of second-hand embarrassment? Extraordinarily she manages to beat anything I did as an alcoholic for toe-curling, calf-tightening abashment, which is saying something.)
The serenity prayer is a dare. It’s a challenge issued to the part of you that still believes in the possibility of redemption, whatever your deeper predilections. The prayer trumps the pathway to the problem. It bucks you off your booze pony just as you look set to ride into the sunset. Yes, the landing is bumpy (as you actually have to process whatever it is you’re faced with) but it’s better than the prior destination.
Our response to problems can be catastrophic. Many of us are not good at handling this stuff. We treat discomfort like a disease, and alcohol like the cure. Your boss is a sociopath? Drink. Your marriage is a hostage negotiation conducted via WhatsApp? Drink. Your bank balance has evaporated, and your overdraft has started sending you passive-aggressive texts? Drink.
I just read a couple of articles in The Times and (without paywall) The Scottish Sun, about 1969 Eurovision winner and legendary pop superstar, Lulu, who has confessed that after the Boom Bang-a-Bang came the Boom Bang-a-Booze. I congratulate her on recognising the problem and addressing it so bravely. One of her quotes illustrates her response and the pattern of cause and effect:
“For me, it had been controllable until I got into my sixties. After I became menopausal, with both my parents gone, the empty nest, looking around and seeing all the young kids in the music industry, I became more and more reliant on it and so it just got worse.”
There are immovable objects in Lulu’s quote. Sad, significant and certain bumps in the road that require the necessary nous to navigate. Who knows if the serenity prayer could have helped Lulu process her issues without taking a drink but what we do know is that, for many, it provides the ability to flip the narrative to the positive and elicit a healthy response. Obviously, many other factors can obfuscate the situation, these things are rarely linear, but it’s a solid place to start.
The serenity prayer asks you to switch on and be brave. It’s not about God. It’s about you. It’s about the positive application of energy and recognising when to back down and surrender when confronted by yourself.
You can’t change your past, but you can change your story. You can change the way you respond to the chaos of being alive. Next time you find yourself staring into the abyss, or the optics rack, try the serenity prayer. Shout it like a war cry if you need to: “SERENITY! COURAGE! WISDOM!”
And if that fails, try a cup of tea. It’s cheaper than gin and less likely to ruin your weekend.
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