The Art of Losing

It’s been a very difficult year (couple of years, really). It feels like a losing year. Loss of friends, loss of trust, loss of place, loss of hope. I simply feel like hunkering down and escaping from certain parts of the world for a while.

Zane has had it rough, too. His seizures seem worse. They definitely affect him to the point that he is unable to enjoy and participate in life fully. He wants to sleep because he has to; I want to sleep because sometimes it is the preferable place to be in times of stress and utter disappointment.

I apologize for the negativity, but it would be dishonest to paint my (our) situation in a sparkling light right now. It’s not…sparkling, that is. So I leave you with this poem by Elizabeth Bishop—one I’ve always appreciated.

One Art

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. 

Elizabeth Bishop