"Surrender" - Giving back, not giving up.

The word surrender did not always carry the white flag with which we associate its use today. It comes into English from the Old French "surrendre" - formed from sur (over) and rendre (to give back). Its Latin root, reddere, means to return, to restore, to hand back what was borrowed.

The French medieval meaning of the word surrender, was all about "restoration" - to hand back rights or authority. A piece of land or a farmhouse tenancy, on the expiry of its lease. To surrender something to someone, was to acknowledge that something had never actually belonged to us to begin with. It was an act of order, not a collective collapse. A restoration of balance. The relinquishing of a claim.

Somewhere along the way, the word hardened. It became synonymous with defeat, with the waving of handkerchiefs and the wail of failure. Close your eyes and say the word out loud and I wager €5 that you are seeing either frustrated bank robbers or the tin-helmets and "hände hoch" of weary, German soldiers. That is where the word surrender now takes us.

I think an older, more noble meaning still hums quietly beneath the surface. Because when we truly surrender, something else opens. We surrender into thought. Not the frantic, final kind of thinking, negotiated with self, of a do or die situation, but a softer intelligence. Thoughts that loosen their grip. Thoughts that no longer demand immediate answers. When we surrender, we stop interrogating life and begin a bit of skillful listening.

Vanessa used to be a life guard. She was taught things about the strong, sea currents off the coast of California, in which, if you were caught, you needed to resist the temptation of struggle, and embrace the gentle art of surrender. Let the currents take you where they will and above all else, retain the strength to re-assess. Of course, there are also large sharks to negotiate, but let's put them to one side...

In true surrender, we allow space for thoughts to arrive rather than force the into being thoughts. We trust that kind of clarity has an inate, organic rhythm and that any insight we can acheive, often comes not through pressure, but through pause. Although surrendering into thoughts is passive, it is not a purposeless act. It is respect for the wisdom that emerges when our minds are no longer clenched like a brace of nervous buttocks. From this point, we can surrender into peace.

Peace, in turn, is not something we achieve by getting everything right. It is not a prize at the end of strenuous effort. Peace appears when resistance dissolves and perhaps we stop arguing with the general "que será, será" of life. It doesn’t mean we are suddenly obliged to like everything. It doesn’t mean we approve, agree, or give up our overall sense of discernment. It simply means we stop fighting reality as if reality made a mistake.

Surrendering into peace feels like a deep breath you didn’t realize you were holding. It is the body remembering it doesn’t need to adopt the "brace position" at every moment of uncertainty. It is the nervous system softening its stance, just enough to sit still. And from this place, something furtherly (is that a word?) unexpected happens. We surrender into giving back.

Not giving back from a sense of "giving up". Not giving back as proof of our worth or usefulness. But the kind of giving back that flows naturally, without a sense of material or personal loss. When we are no longer patrolling ourselves so precisely that, generosity brushes its hair and puts on a clean shirt. Spacious. Unforced. We give presence instead of performance.We give kindness without keeping the score. We give back because we are connected and not because we are afraid of losing our grip.

This kind of giving doesn’t fill us with a sense of retreat or feelings of failure it circulates a better version of us. It reminds us that life moves through us, not away from us.

Surrender, then, is not a single moment of a white flag on a bent twig. It is a softer choice. An elective posture we can choose to adopt, in order to loosen the screws of what has become rigid.

Surrender does not erase ambition, I still fancy my chances as a bank robber. Surrender refines us, without the removal of basic responsibility. Yet surrender does ask questions...

"What if strenuous effort is not always the solution?" and "What if giving becomes lighter when we stop gripping it, like the leash of a boisterous bulldog?"

My personal conclusion? Perhaps surrender as we know it, is not the end of strength or struggle, but the beginning of alignment and a quiet courage. A willing return to the idea that some things are meant to be just handed over.