The Art of Losing Is Not Hard to Master!

I have witnessed many friends, relatives, classmates, colleagues, and myself move to different countries or states over the years for various reasons: living in better societies with more individual rights, pursuit of higher education, starting careers, better job opportunities, alleviating financial hardships, etc. These moves are more common and even expected for people living under severe circumstances or at certain stages of their lives: when going to college, going to graduate school, starting a career, getting married, having kids, etc. People move with hopes that the new place offers the opportunity to achieve what they were aiming for. However, some people repeat this pattern of moving and starting a new life very often without being motivated by a specific goal or a significant life-changing event. This second group is the focus of this post.

I have always admired such group of people for their determination to advance in life, for bravely starting all over again, for making a new place their home, for establishing new friendships, and learning all about a new community. I found all they go through too exhausting. How can it be easy to start fresh when it takes so long just to figure out who is a trust-worthy plumber in town? I looked closer. They do not always move because their new destination has better opportunities to offer. They do not move, even though it is hard, to achieve higher goals. Rather, they use those goals to justify and rationalize their moves. They move because they find it harder to stay. It is hard to stay when every corner of the city reminds you of memories with your last love. It is hard to continue to show up to work when no one supports you, when all your relationships are tainted. It is hard to stay where you do not have any friends. It is hard to stay when there is nothing and no one to stay for. Thus, they keep moving and mastering the art of losing.

Staying is an art. Making things right is an art. Maintaining friendships and good relationships is an art. Making a place your home is an art. Establishing traditions that would last over the years is an art. "The art of losing is not hard to master".

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 beloved 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!) a disaster.

Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979)

Stone Carvings of Childhood Era

Tonight he is the star on the stage. He is singing and dancing. All the girls reach for his hand. They take his picture, and shout his name to draw his attention. In the audience, he has an old friend. A friend from his childhood. She came just to support him on his big night and to catch up with him.

They meet after the concert. He does not talk about his successful career much. Instead, he says how as a kid he enjoyed going to his friend's house. How he liked its yard with an always empty pool. How he liked playing with her American games. But above all, he remembers how she was studios and he was not. How his mother wished he was more like her. He remembers when his parents built their house, they had the opportunity to pick a name for their alley. They did not name it after their son. No, they named it after her, a girl of a distant relative! It might have to do with the fact that all other close-by streets were named after flowers and her name was also a flower's name. Having his name for their street would have broken the pattern in that neighborhood: this reasoning could not heal his hurt feelings.

The old friend, a grown woman now, listens to him. She feels the heavy weight of all the sadness he has been carrying since his childhood. She had no idea all these years that is how she is remembered on the other side of the world, in southern hemisphere, by an old friend. She had stolen part of his mother's love and attention he needed so badly without even knowing it, or worse, without even trying.

She is so glad they had this conversation. She thinks: "Good that I came to see him. Good that I acknowledged he is the star, and I am an old fan." That night, she made a promise to herself: if she ever had a kid, she would constantly reassure her/him that s/he is loved regardless of his/her successes and shortcomings. She would never ever compare her child with another.