Losses Large and Small
This started as a rambling about lost objects, so there's still that part. But, another loss--a public, shameful fall from grace--way overshadows the little things.
The other day while running to dinner, to an art opening, to home again, my black scarf disappeared. It was soft, long, wide, and perfect for protecting me from the winter chill. Gone now. Not a big deal, I tell myself. I bought it for $5 at a thrift store in Boulder, Colorado. It’s gotten plenty of use. Still…
I imagine a thief, an unlikable person wearing it. Gloating. Or, maybe it’s a person of little means who found it on the sidewalk, now marveling at the generosity of the universe. A friend who once lost a beautiful vintage scarf at a music festival philosophically noted that someone else was now enjoying a lovely scarf. All our possessions end up somewhere, now or later, so why not assume that the highest order prevails.
The Patti Smith story…
In what is probably a well-known anecdote at this point, musician Patti Smith speaks about a beloved black coat that went missing, but also of deeper losses. (The Fred referenced below is her late husband who as a child lost his favorite toy, Reddy.)
Some things are called back from the Valley. I believe Reddy called out to Fred. I believe Fred heard. I believe in their mutual jubilance. Some things are not lost but sacrificed. I saw my black coat in the Valley of the Lost on a random mound being picked over by desperate urchins. Someone good will get it, I told myself, the Billy Pilgrim of the lot.
Do our lost possessions mourn us? Do electric sheep dream of Roy Batty? Will my coat, riddled with holes, remember the rich hours of our companionship? Asleep on buses from Vienna to Prague, nights at the opera, walks by the sea, the grave of Swinburne in the Isle of Wight, the arcades of Paris, the caverns of Luray, the cafés of Buenos Aires. Human experience bound in its threads. How many poems bleeding from its ragged sleeves? I averted my eyes just for a moment, drawn by another coat that was warmer and softer, but that I did not love. Why is it that we lose the things we love, and things cavalier cling to us and will be the measure of our worth after we’re gone?
Then it occurred to me. Perhaps I absorbed my coat.
I have always loved Patti Smith’s musings on lost objects, particularly her loss of a beloved coat, from the wonderful memoir M Train (excerpt above). So, I was delighted to find this thoughful post by novelist Alec Nevala-Lee, who also related to Smith’s story, but goes on in excellent fashion to tackle bigger issues of loss.
I encountered the story of the black coat in the recent wonderful essay “When Things Go Missing” by Kathryn Schulz in The New Yorker, in which she, like Smith, uses the disappearance of physical objects as an entry point for exploring other kinds of loss. After a very funny opening in which she discusses a short period in which she lost her car keys, her wallet, and her friend’s pickup truck, she provides a roundup of the extant advice on finding lost items, including the “suspect” rule that states that most objects are less than two feet from where you think you left them. As it happens, I’m familiar with that rule, which appears in How to Find Lost Objects by Professor Solomon, which I’ve quoted here before. Personally, I like his idea of the Eureka Zone, the eighteen-inch radius that he recommends we measure with a ruler and then explore meticulously.
Life deals us bigger losses as we all know. A cancer diagnosis, the death of a loved one, old age, losing one’s job, bankruptcy, etc, as well as the many losses of “self” that chip away at us over the years. Little lies, working in a job we hate, putting up with toxic individuals—these all take a toll on our self-image. We question our identity. But most of the time recovery is possible. With reflection and determination, we become whole again.
Sometimes, however, self-destructive behavior is beyond understanding, beyond any idea of redemption.
This is one. Warning: Topic may be triggering.
My story involves the significant fall from grace of a former coworker. This man—a respected, trusted, a sort-of work friend—turned out to be heavily into child pornography; the viewing, the trading, the uploading, the whole experience. He was caught, tried, and is now looking at what most consider a light sentence. His real punishment, however, is life-long. Loss of family (wife, children, sibling), personal and professional friends. Loss of respect from the community he counseled. Hatred from the coworkers he deceived and betrayed. His personal life is trash and the public life he so carefully cultivated, protected, and enjoyed went up like the worst dumpster fire.
I relate this to get it off my chest but to also send my deepest condolences to anyone who has been affected by this type of individual; the spouses, family members, friends and colleagues of selfish, deceptive, narcissists. Yes, they are sick. They need help. Sympathy for them may or may not come later, but it will be much, much later.
In the dark world of child porn where images of child torture and abuse are collected and shared, we mustn’t forget (and continue to fight for) the child victims depicted in these awful images; infants and children who desperately need the unrelenting efforts of law enforcement in order to end the nightmare in which they exist. (Learn more about the ways technology could help in this effort.) It’s a difficult topic, but one that needs the attention and outrage from every caring person.
Whew. That got real, and that’s OK. Sometimes things need to be aired out. Thanks for listening. As a reward, here’s a poem I love about saving face…
Riding Lesson - Henry Taylor I learned two things from an early riding teacher. He held a nervous filly in one hand and gestured with the other, saying, "Listen. Keep one leg on one side, the other leg on the other side, and your mind in the middle." He turned and mounted. She took two steps, then left the ground, I thought for good. But she came down hard, humped her back, swallowed her neck, and threw her rider as you'd throw a rock. He rose, brushed his pants and caught his breath, and said, "See that's the way to do it. When you see they're gonna throw you, get off."
So friend, keep your mind in the middle and get off before they throw you. Stay well, be true to yourself, and have a peace and joy filled holiday season.