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.
* * *
I recited the Serenity Prayer at my friend’s funeral last week. The whole congregation did. My friend was a recovering alcoholic.
(Alcoholism is a disease. Those who suffer from it merit sympathy, not condemnation.)
I came away thinking the Serenity Prayer could be my daily prayer for the next four years, starting tomorrow, Inauguration Day. Donald Trump will be president. It makes me sick, but I can’t change that.
Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.
But, you know, I don’t want serenity. I don’t want unconditional acceptance. I want disquietude.
Grant me disquietude lest I become numb.
I can accept defeat. After all, we are a democracy. We don’t always get what we want. I wanted Kamala Harris. She lost. I can’t change that.
Sometimes we win. Sometimes we lose. And when decent people lose they shake the winners’ hands and quietly vow to beat them in the next round.
Yes, we lost. But we haven’t quit. We’ll be back. Stronger and smarter.
Tomorrow President Joe Biden will shake Trump’s hand on behalf of all who opposed him. We’re good sports.
Alas, I can accept Trump’s victory. But I cannot accept the man himself.
He refused to accept the results of the previous election. He lied. He cheated. He instigated violence and murder. He whined. He pouted. He stomped like a two-year-old.
He may be smart but he’s also unstable.
I don’t want to be serene about that at all!
As a child, according to his niece, a clinical psychologist, Trump felt no love from his father or mother. He grew up isolated, unloved, craving attention. He became a malignant narcissistic, paranoid, sociopath.
That’s a sickness. Trump is a sick person.
Accordingly, he merits our sympathy. But he does not merit the presidency of the United States of America.
So, yes, I have sympathy for the man. Sympathy, not affection.
But somehow I can’t seem to muster sympathy for my fellow Americans who—with eyes wide open— entrusted a sick and dangerous man to steer our nation.
I mean, who allows a mentally unstable person behind the wheel with their children in the back seat? We may sympathize with him, but we do not allow sympathy to jeopardize the lives of our children.
We don’t need serenity.
We need gumption.