More than 13 years ago I fell to my knees and gave up. Literally gave up. And out came the words: “I can’t do this anymore, I’m so tired of hurting, of being afraid. I surrender.”
I surrender.
Two words I’m fairly certain I’d never before uttered.
I’ve covered what happened next in previous posts so I won’t go into it again, other than to reiterate that the mind that surrenders – the mind drowning in suffering – does indeed receive a response. It’s just not in a form or manner we expect. And we may not recognize that response until days or weeks or even months later.
Surrender arrives because the mind reaches the point that its problems are so big it hasn’t got a clue what to do. Abraham Lincoln once confessed: “I have been driven many times upon my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had no where else to go.”
We imagine ourselves surrendering to a higher power, perhaps the grand architect that put us here to begin with. I’ve come to believe the object to which that surrender is directed is far less important than the expression itself.
So here’s what I can tell you about surrender. If it’s earnest – as earnest as you can get – it works. I know this, because I’ve lived it, again and again.
When we surrender, that which is listening – let’s just call it God – puts in motion the machinery that eventually will lead us out of the wilderness of our suffering. And to reiterate, it’s not going to be anything like you expect.
Surrender, as I’ve come to see it, is a confession, the only prayer that God heeds, because it at last acknowledges that ‘thy will (not mine) be done.’ It is a confession borne out of humility – a quality most of us sorely lack.
The Anti-Self-Esteem Movement
Surrender is difficult even for the most ardent spiritual seeker or sufferer, because we have been taught, since childhood, that the polar opposite of surrender – enhancing the self – is the solution to all our problems. The greater our sense of self-esteem, the happier our lives.
We gravitate toward the self-confident, become uncomfortable around the insecure and anxious. We celebrate the loud-mouthed extrovert, deride (or at least sympathize with) the quiet introvert.
Despite our covetous behavior toward the confident, another part of us notices something peculiar: the supremely self-confident can, in many cases, be pompous, arrogant, demeaning toward others. The exceedingly confident are exceedingly self-absorbed, empty vessels, and left unchallenged, can go on to wreak incredible havoc in the lives of others.
Yet virtually the entirety of Western culture is built upon this concept of endlessly focusing on the improvement of one’s self, one’s love of self (aka, self-esteem). We hit the gym to flex our muscles, plaster on makeup to hide our flaws, acquire knowledge or money to impress others. All that we do is built on the idea of propping up ourselves and – big reveal here – setting ourselves apart from others.
Ironic, isn’t it, that as we in the West have amped up the esteem movement, our kids have in turn become more anxious, depressed, lonely? Helicopter parents hover over their kids, whose schedules are packed with self-improving activities (martial arts, piano, basketball….) Never in the history of humankind have so many kids been so immersed and coddled and protected, and never have so many struggled against an array of mental illnesses that require equally historic levels of medications and therapies.
And the thing is, their parents are no different. We are said, in this era of 24/7 connectivity, to be suffering from an ‘epidemic in loneliness‘ so profound that some nations are creating cabinet-level ministers of loneliness in hopes of understanding and correcting the problem.
Clearly, something is amiss with humanity’s approach to ‘me.’
Suffering’s Common Denominator
During the insanity of my first 40 years, each time I crashed and burned, well-intentioned family and friends would offer up the usual palliatives: You’re tall, handsome, articulate, smart – you’ll be fine.
And while I’d eagerly devour those words – anything to make the pain abate even a bit – they also felt empty, like a calorie-free meal. Something deep within knew that those words and the things they represented not only were meaningless, they were a big part of the problem.
In fact, I often felt guilty after hearing them – how could I be so miserable when I had so much going for me?
And isn’t this precisely what we tell others who are suffering: “Well, it could be much worse.” Or that old maxim, “There but for the grace of God go I.” (Translation: “Sucks to be you. Glad God is on my side and I don’t have to go through it.”)
A slow learner, I had to keep making stupid decision after stupid decision, badly hurting myself and those I loved, until at last the pain became so great, the excuses so watered down and worthless, that the mind was out of options.
Except one.
And that’s when, for many of us, surrender is all that remains. It is at last recognized that I am the common denominator to all of this suffering. But I’m also out of answers – puffing myself up simply isn’t working.
It’s the birth of one’s anti-self-esteem movement, the one that says, “I AM the problem, and no matter how much lipstick I slather on it’s not going to look any better or be any happier.”
Letting Life Take Over
Surrender brings change. Over the 13 years that followed, I engaged in all manner of ‘spiritual’ activity, lots of it memorable, some even enjoyable. Yet nothing mattered so much as those two little words and the humility and openness that came with it.
It was that first moment of surrender (there would be many more to follow) that marked the first time in nearly 43 years of life that I was bucking a system (and the mindset that comes with it) that had taught me that I and my esteem were what mattered most.
There would be many missteps along the way, the ego sneaking in again and again to lay claim to this or that discovery or accomplishment. Instead of a VP of Sales, I found self-esteem as a spiritual aspirant; instead of tooting my horn as husband and father, I took pride in being a disciple of this or that guru.
This, I suppose, is where the ongoing process of surrender helped, because it kept that hidden machinery in motion. Repeatedly, I was granted small and subtle graces that reminded me I was being helped, that something much bigger than little old me was at work, and that I wasn’t doing it.
I had surrendered the reins to this life and it was obliging that request.
Most important of all, surrendering demonstrated just how profoundly wrong we humans are and always have been. By celebrating ourselves, we separate ourselves – from each other and the world around us. This mindset leads to endless horrors, including the degradation of this planet, subjugation of supposedly lesser humans, warfare, and of course all that anxiety and depression so many of us wrestle with.
My humble advice, for what it’s worth: Surrender. Let go. Give it to God. And see what happens.
