Losing

I lost a pencil the other day. It was in my pocket –  probably fell out when I grabbed my face mask – a stub you see, one of the many I have lost over the years.  You’ve probably done the same.

Or have you?  Not losing your property is a rule drummed into some at a young age: loss is seen as a fault begotten by carelessness; any lack of anxiety over such is a greater fault, the seed of a habit which will end in the poorhouse, where there’s nothing left to lose.  Pity you did not know the origins of the word: Old English, “perish, destroy”; “become unable to find”, an obvious consequence of the former two conditions, brings home the message that you lose things at your peril.

Take care of the pence and the pounds will take care of themselves is the proverbial expression of the same principle.  Coming from a different era, it instils a spirit of careful thrift with the carrot of eventual prosperity as its possible consequence.  Such pronouncements are founded on the principle of rightful ownership: what it yours  is yours, guard it, maintain it and prize it – you won’t get another if you don’t.  What makes the edge of this warning even sharper is the fact that losing things is easier than acquiring them.

The Old Testament prophet, Job: “Naked came I out of the womb, and naked shall I return thither…” tell us that, ultimately, we own nothing.  But that does not stop us from trying to own as much as possible before the second nakedness.  Nakedness is a fearful condition, necessitating immediate physical covering.  As one grows into life, other forms of material establish themselves as suitable garments to withstand the conditions of life.  Status, wealth, reputation and social connection are donned to identify one from others.  These are acquired through much effort, knowing, too, that it is easier to lose these distinctions than gain them.  A slight carelessness, a lapse of concentration or a slip of the tongue can lose an opportunity, a fortune or a reputation.

Coupled with this knowledge is the perception that loss of a certain kind is seen as a weakness of character.  The implication is that, when one loses something – a match, a profit, a relationship – the ability not to lose was present, but not applied.  Losing is not good: winning positions must be maintained.  Not to be tainted by loss leads players to blame referees, businesses their circumstances, governments their predecessors and spouses the other.  The vehemence of such reactions is due to the perception that one’s character is judged by this loss: it is bad to lose, good to win.  Spurred by the fear of being judged for some deficiency of character, some will do anything to avoid  loss.  “There can only be one winner” is not acceptable to those who have also decided that being a good loser means staying a loser.  The only loss seen as inevitable is that of  life; so win as much as you can from it until that happens.

Coming naked into this world does mean though that gain is as necessary as its inevitable loss will be. The impulse to gain and survive leads to a multitude of things to acquire.  Moreover, there is the natural desire to have things of one’s own, best seen in young children’s wild, unbridled excitement at the thought of receiving birthday or other occasional presents. This path to gain is that trod by most lives, conscious that it is easier to lose than regain the job, the house, the husband. 

Loss is a little word with a big portfolio.  Some losses are temporary: your car in the parking lot!  Until walking around and pushing the button on the remote lights up the indicators and your face. Others will be always remembered: your first pet, your virginity, your passport. Some are serious: a friend, your business, your confidence.  Ultimately, though loss strikes a dissonant chord, a negative trend, it is best to accept it as part of life: not to do so means losing sleep as well, something you do not want to do.  As Jesus Christ said: “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.”