It’s easy to maintain my serenity and sobriety when I’ve placed myself in a controlled environment. Sterile. No outside agitators. Nothing to contaminate my right-sized piece of mind. Because nothing keeps me on the straight and narrow like a bunch of alone time with my thoughts.
Step Two: came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
I’ve got to drop the “everything would be fine if everyone just left me alone” notion as a solution. The only reason I do better by myself is because I don’t call myself out on my own shit. And when I do, it’s only two fulfill my self-pity quotient; some days I need to dig down deep into depression. Of course I can handle it alone. I’ll just sit here and subconsciously blame everyone and everything for my foul mood, the one that I’m actively avoiding trying to remove myself from. What’s the matter? Everything and nothing. At the same time. The anguish of inertia.
Imagine the daily relief that would come if I reminded myself of Step Two each morning? I could be restored to sanity if I stopped clinging and turned in my mental keys each day? Because insanity isn’t just the definition of doing the same thing over and over, etc. For me it’s thinking the same things over and over, and turning those thoughts into truths based on nothing more than obsessive-compulsive repetition. That’s seeing the world through a fun house mirror of my own creation, fit to accentuate my unique cuts and bruises, fashioned after my particular strand of self-loathing, where I am the gargoyle, hiding in the darkness of the traveling sideshow, where those standing behind me in the mirror, the perfect people, ignore me.
Understanding the difference between letting go and controlling without knowing. It’s pretty simple in concept, but in practice, it’s a slippery bugger. Whenever I verbally or mentally say, “I don’t care,” I’m clinging to something. Most likely, something petty and embarrassing to admit. When I let go, I’m able to see the value in something or someone who may not meet any of my needs, but does for others, and it needn’t be condemned for it’s perceived uselessness. To each their own. If that’s all I’ve ever really wanted, I gotta be willing to give it out.
12 the hard way 
“Letting go” is a tough one for me too. You are right, “I don’t care” is not the way. Of course we do care about how things work out or events of our lives. I have settled on to concentrate on my efforts and not the outcome. To do whatever seems like the right thing to do, knowing that most things are beyond my control.
Amen to that. Letting go for me often feels like I’m accepting defeat; that I’ll later be chastised for letting go of something I should have clung to like grim death. Pretending to not care is the passive/aggressive way I let people know that I’ve been wounded, how deeply determined by my level of not caring.