The Art of Losing

We’ve lost a lot this year, but we finally won a major battle in science. Congratulations to the scientists’ figuring out vaccines against COVID-19!

My dad, the microbiologist who worked in public health, would be giving them a standing ovation! I’m grateful, too, beyond words for this milestone. On the other hand, as we’re well aware, this year has been one with all sorts of conflicting emotions at once.

While cheering scientist’s work to keep us healthy, I can’t help thinking about the ongoing loss of life, the debilitating sickness of many, and the domino-effect-losses due to this pandemic: jobs, businesses, even relationships.

During this holiday season, I want to honor the people we’ve lost due to COVID with this post. I hope it will motivate us who remain on the planet to offer and to seek healing however we can.

Literature – illuminates humanity

Recently, I came across one of my old college papers for a Literature course in 1991. At first glance, the title, “The Art of Losing,” sounds defeatist, but after reading it again, I see there’s something in it about the human condition that speaks to this unimaginable time.

Note: I’ve added a few subtitles to break up the blocks of text and ease the blog-post-reading-experience. Why the ring photo? Keep reading.

The Art of Losing

by Charlene Lamy

11-25-91

Sitting in Philosophy class a few weeks ago, I heard the teacher ask a question I’ve often asked myself in quiet moments of reflection, “Is there an art to living? Don’t some people just seem better at it than others?” It sure seems like it to me, I thought. Later, I remembered a poem I had read a couple of years ago that, in part, has something to do with this art of living. It’s about what I call a sub-art: the art of losing.

One Art

by Elizabeth Bishop

 

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;

So many things seem filled with the intent

To be lost that their loss is no disaster.

 

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster

Of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

 

Then practice losing farther, losing faster;

Places, and names, and where it was you meant

To travel. None of these will bring disaster.

 

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! My last, or

Next-to-last, of three loved houses went.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

 

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,

Some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.

I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

 

–Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture

I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident

The art of losing’s not too hard to master

Though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

My response to One Art

When I first read this, I wondered, does she really mean it? Does she truly believe it’s possible to practice up for a devastating loss in life (like losing the person she mentions at the end) by starting out with accepting smaller losses which invariably occur in the course of living? What if this were a viable way to handle losses? Could I do it? Is it really possible?

It may very well be possible to master the art of losing if I remember that “so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost.” Indeed, it appears that losing little things like extra keys, loose change, shirt buttons and time spent waiting in line at the grocery store are unavoidable losses in life. Also, because plans often change, we lose chances to see people or go places—these are forms of loss I have accepted. This idea of loss due to change reminds me of a quote in the opening of Cosmic Dawn, a book by Eric Chaisson. In it he quotes Heraclitus, a Greek philosopher from about twenty-five centuries ago who said, “There’s nothing permanent except change.” If this is true, then I would be in harmony with the way things are by losing something every day as Ms. Bishop advises. I’d be in tune with the changing nature of life and Ms. Bishop would be right.

A philosopher’s response to losing

Recently, I read similar thoughts about the art of losing written by a Stoic philosopher, Epictetus, who lived about A.D. 50 – 130. He offered his ideas, much like Ms. Bishop, reflecting a way of handling loss that would help us maintain an imperturbable state of mind.

In the case of everything attractive or useful or that you are fond of, remember to say just what sort of thing it is, beginning with the least little things. If you are fond of a jug, say “I am fond of a jug!” For then when it is broken you will not be upset. If you kiss your child or your wife say that you are kissing a human being; for when it dies you will not be upset.

My response to Epictetus

Indeed, it does seem wise to remember all human beings, especially those dear to us, are mortal, finite, fragile beings. They could become estranged from us because people change; they could be taken from us by death, we realize, even at any moment. This man Epictetus causes me to think there may be some help in his words, that if I could just discipline myself to follow his advice I could reduce and possibly even eliminate pain and grief at the time of loss. I admit, his philosophy, his recipe for the art of losing, has a certain appeal to me, to the side of me that craves clear answers to life’s problems. How much happier my life would be if I could accept big losses as easily as he describes. But how far can I go with this approach? I can apply it to losing some small things, but is it humanly possible to be so cut and dry about it all, Epictetus?

The poet’s real response to losing?

The underlying sarcasm I see in Ms. Bishop’s poem reveals her answer to this. She subtly retorts to Epictetus, “No way is the art of losing so easy to master!” Her flippant advice to “Lose something every day” is, no doubt, tongue-in-cheek rhetoric. Facetiously she expounds this truth that practicing up for a big loss will bring about a master’s degree in losing so much that such an artist could handle losing a loved one. Surely she is joking!

One thing I lost

I remember how I felt in the summer of 1972 when I lost something small but dear to me. I lost my mother’s diamond engagement ring down the drain while taking a shower. Because I was not able to retrieve it, I felt a piece of my mom’s heart and my own go down the drain with the ring forever. Today, almost twenty years later, it still pains me to think about it. How careless of me, how stupid. Granted, it would be less painful to be able to shrug it off and chalk it up to the truth Ms. Bishop tries to convince me and herself of—that some things are filled with the intent to be lost and this ring is one of them. That’s the way life is. So what?

So what? You lose things sometimes

But the “what” for me is that I am HUMAN! I feel loss and it hurts. Sometimes the pain lasts a long time, too. I have emotional ties to things of sentimental value, like that ring, and to people to whom I am attached emotionally and intellectually, like my mother. If only I were a machine or a computer with an on and off switch for feelings of disaster, then maybe I could take Epictetus’ advice, turn off the pain, and be a master of this art of losing. I could then change quickly with the changes going on around me without missing the way things used to be. It doesn’t, however, seem I really can. As a human, I fail to see how I can do this.

A large disaster

I remember the disaster I felt when, years before I lost mom’s ring, I lost mom. Nothing prepared me for her death, for losing her. Even her own words didn’t prepare me. She told me that in life you just have to bend like the trees when the wind blows, when a hard time comes your way. You can’t stand stiffly against it or it will break you. “Bow like the willows,” she said, “and let it pass.” Once in a while I let the wind blow by; once in a while I remember to bend. Maybe that’s the art of losing. Perhaps it’s more gentle, genuine flowing with the changing breeze, even though in the bending I may experience a time of discomfort. At least I can know the pain of loss will pass like the wind. My losing her haunts me still; the grieving experience, un-Stoic as it is, takes humans like me time. Losing her still feels like disaster.

No big deal?

I see this humanity, this pain over loss in Ms. Bishop’s last line, her last push to flippancy, sarcastically convincing herself that losing is no big deal. Her failure to believe her own advice is reflected in her words: (Write it!). No matter how many little things like keys and wasted moments I lose, nothing can genuinely prepare me for the loss of a loved one to death, or the loss or change in a relationship with someone I love. It is a big deal.

—-The End—-

Thanks for reading. Comments are always welcome!

Your writer on the wing,

Charlene