The wisdom to know the difference

On breaking a self-inflicted curse

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On the eve of my high school graduation, an evil witch cast a dark spell on me.

The witch was me, and the spell was my high school yearbook quote: “God grant me the strength to change what I can, the inability to accept what I can’t, and the incapacity to tell the difference.”

It was a line from Calvin and Hobbes. Significantly, it was delivered by Calvin, the heel, but that minor detail escaped my awareness. I chose the quote not with hipster irony or edgelord cynicism, but with youthful sincerity.

What appealed to me most was the romantic notion of fighting for what I believed in no matter what, working to better myself and the world around me even in the face of impossible odds, pushing forward even when all signs indicated failure. This, I trusted, was the mark of heroism. Knowing I would soon leave home and begin a new life of independence, I genuinely hoped to armor myself with the inability to accept my limitations and the incapacity to know when to quit.

In my defense, I was likely thinking about all the adults who lose all traces of idealism as they age, letting their dreams recede with their hairlines. Give me the opposite of that, I thought. Go hard or go home.

For a few years, I went hard, grinding my way to a corporate internship I didn’t know I didn’t want. After only a few weeks of what was meant to last a few months, I went home. Riddled with anxiety.

In hindsight, living by this philosophy had one gaping problem: I didn’t know what I believed in. You can’t beat the odds if you don’t know what odds you’re up against. You can’t change the world if you don’t know what you’d like to change. Haters can’t be your motivators if you don’t know what motivates you. Persistence without purpose is wasted energy.

After a bit of a breakdown, I realized I had been subsisting on old habits that had long passed their expiration date, seeing myself as a static being who had already figured life out and had no further growing to do. My yearbook quote attested to that. Worse, it was a plea to the universe to keep things that way.

In the movies, breaking a spell usually requires a dramatic deed: true love’s first kiss, tossing the ring into the fires of Mordor, the tears of a Pikachu. In real life, it’s more like outgrowing a shell.

There’s a period of resistance, contorting yourself to remain within the confines of an old way of thinking. Then, there’s the discomfort of facing the elements without your protective armor, the vulnerability of being exposed for what you are, inadequacies and all. Finally, if you’re lucky, there’s resolution in a roomier shell. In my case, that meant finding a less fragile philosophy.

Funnily enough, that philosophy looks a lot like the non-parodic version of my yearbook quote: “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.”

Sure, it’s cliché, but it’s repeated ad nauseam for a reason. Serenity, courage, and wisdom are aspirational qualities that counterbalance one another’s worst excesses. They certainly make for a less brittle credo than strength, inability, and incapacity.

Is this … “mindfulness”?

It gives me some consolation, however, to know I wasn’t alone in my initial approach.

A 2024 survey from Adobe found that one in three 18-30-year-olds in the United States want to be influencers. The top categories they’d like to influence are “gaming,” “lifestyle,” “food,” “travel,” and “beauty.” Unfortunately, the survey didn’t ask one very important question: “What would you like your influence to be?” Put another way, “Exactly what sort of influence are you trying to exert?” I suspect that if such a question had been posed, many respondents would be left dumbfounded, unable to provide a coherent answer. I say this not with judgment, but with the wisdom that comes with being the age at which surveyors stop asking if you want to become an influencer.

From this vantage point, I suspect many of us who dream of changing the world are really after something more mundane: Being seen. Not in the superficial “look at me” way that online culture encourages. In a genuine way. Perhaps visions of becoming a thought leader mask hopes of simply being recognized as someone who has thoughts. Maybe fantasies of fame belie the basic human desire to be known and appreciated for who we are.

But even if the goal of having influence can be chalked up to nothing more than a severe case of main character syndrome, it’s important to note that main characters tend to share certain positive qualities. Moral integrity, concern for the well-being of others, bravery in the face of danger. What’s more, they often go through some serious shit, getting knocked down over and over again and still getting back up, usually learning something valuable in the process. Importantly, that’s not because they have the incapacity to tell the difference between what they can and can’t change, but because they have the courage to change what they can.

Much of the humor in Calvin and Hobbes, on the other hand, comes from Calvin’s unwillingness to change.

“You should lead an interesting life,” says Hobbes in the comic, after Calvin happily declares his intention to brute-force his way through existence. “Oh, I already do!” replies Calvin — forcefully.

That’s exactly how I would have responded in high school, had anyone questioned my way of thinking. The knowledge that nothing would have altered my mindset but repeated confrontations with reality is why today I can look back at my younger self with more amusement than horror. Serenity, if you will.

Thank you for reading Art Life Balance.

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