We live in a society obsessed with power: power tools, power lunches, power walks, even power naps. We consider the available horsepower before buying a lawnmower or an automobile. Ever wonder why shopping mall parking lots are full of four-wheel drive all-terrain SUVs? Or why people buy sports cars that can go far faster than the law allows? Maybe it’s because we are looking for some way to be in control of our lives. The fact is that we may be associating power with control.

I can remember when owning a luxury automobile was considered a “status symbol,” that is, a symbol of wealth and material success. Now, more often, people want to be able to say to others that they can drive places other people can’t, or at least can outrun them when traveling along the same road. One-upmanship. Power. Control.

The idea of being powerless is not one that sits well with most people. By the time we were in grade school, most of us probably learned that being powerless was the equivalent of weakness. If we weren’t tough (or at least able to project an image of toughness), then some other kid would make it their personal project to see that our life was miserable.

Later, in high school, we learned that being powerless was often the same as being an outcast. So some people sought power by being athletic, others by academic excellence, still others by whatever means available. I can recall one fellow in high school who drove a classic sports car, and when asked what his father did for a living simply replied, “He owns things.” He had demonstrated power, even if it was the second-hand power of his father’s bank account.

Sometimes, we learned other ways of displaying our own personal power. As a father, I can all too easily recall the first word learned by many children is, “No!” Maybe, in part, that is because this is a word that toddlers hear often. But it is also a word that they understand and will frequently use to express their own desire to be in control.

Try to feed a toddler something he or she doesn’t like and you will likely hear that child’s opinion. “No!” Tell them it is naptime while they are still actively playing, and again you will hear what that child thinks of your idea. “No!” And one of the next words most children learn? “Mine!”

The mentality of “no” and “mine” sometimes stay with us as we begin to grow up. We may find new ways to express our power… our control… but it really isn’t all that different. At that same time when other high school kids were demonstrating their power on the ball field or in the class room, I recall exerting my power by doing the opposite of what the authority figures in my life told me. If I was too young to drink, then that was exactly what I did. If alcohol was forbidden on school premises, then smuggling ice chests of beer onto campus and drinking there seemed like the thing to do. When I ended up at a church-run college that had forbidden students to go into bars, then my response was to work at a bar.

Like that two-year-old, I was saying “No!” as loudly as I could. I desperately wanted to be in control, and could not bear the thought of being weak or vulnerable.

How ironic then, that I spent years of my life grasping for what it seemed would be a strength, and avoiding that which seemed to be weakness, when in effect, I had the two reversed. By continually striving for power (or what I thought was power), I had put myself into a situation where I was continually striving.

Nothing was ever enough… as long as I was comparing myself to someone else (the definition, I thought, of strength). The desire to be in control had taken over my life. Control -- the desire to be in power – had become a dead-end street as a strength.

So what was the alternative? What was real strength about? That has been a lesson for me to learn and re-learn with each passing year. Now, as a father, I find that there are many things over which I am powerless (not just alcohol). Watching my children make their own mistakes (just as I had to make mine) is an exercise in powerlessness. Yet it is also an exercise in strength, because I have come to realize that my life can and does go on in spite of the things which render me powerless. In fact, not only does life go on, but life is fuller now than ever before. No longer am I a captive to worrying about things over which I have no control.

The truth of the matter is that there are certain things in life that cause us to be powerless… whether or not we want to admit it. When we come to the point of being able to acknowledge our powerlessness, then we can quit spending all of our energy trying so desperately to be in control. We begin to have time and energy for other things. We can let go of those matters that have obsessed us, and yet which we could not manage, anyway.

Is powerlessness a strength or a weakness? I think that often powerlessness is a reality, but how we respond to our powerlessness becomes either a weakness (if we spend too much time, energy, and concentration chasing shadows), or a strength (we realize what we can and cannot do, and then made sane decisions about how to direct our efforts). The funny thing is that when I was concerned about “winning,” I was losing out on time with my family and losing out on any ability to simply enjoy all of the good things that life has to offer.

“Win by surrendering” is a phrase that seems like a contradiction in terms to many people new to recovery. Maybe “pick your battles” is another way to express the same idea. Simply put, there are some struggles we just are not going to win, so why bother fighting them? Why not re-examine our priorities, let go of the things we can do nothing about, and start enjoying life? That is the whole idea of recovery in a nutshell; quit fighting fights we cannot win, let go of the lost causes, and start experiencing life to the fullest. It is a good plan. And it works.