The art of losing: Fires, possessions, and walking on

With the fires blazing in Southern California, I’ve been thinking about this question again:

If the house were on fire, what would I grab?

• When I was younger and living at my parents house, the answer was the boxes of photos. But now that I live on my own, I don’t have very many printed photos. Most of them are either on my laptop or my external hard dive. So I’d still really like to grab those. But there are highlights of many of the (thousands and thousands) of photos that I’ve taken available on facebook and other similar venues where I and other life participants have posted them.

• I have a lot of art pieces accumulating in my spare bedroom. But I made them all. And I know that while I may never be able to reproduce them, I also may be able to. Or I could make something new.

• I have a lot of clothes. If I was thinking clearly, I’d probably try to grab a couple shirts and a pair of pants, but they wouldn’t be first priority.

• The jewelry I care about most is always on my person, and those pieces are few, anyway.

• My movies could all be re-bought, but really I could live without them.

• While it would be incredibly sad to lose my journals — the chronicles of my pain, my joy, my wrestling — I know that I lived through them. I know their stories, even if I don’t know their exact words. I would try to grab them if I could. And similarly, most of my non-journaled writings I have either put into online spaces, or emailed to myself already, so most of those are accessible even if my computer burned.

• My Bible is the most irreplaceable book I own, though in reality, I don’t use it more than a couple times a week currently. It was a gift from my dying grandfather the year after my sister died. It has been with me through everything. It has water damage and ink stains (because of the spilled water). It is more underlined and noted than I can describe through the decade of life it’s lived with me. It has tear stains — literally. The leather cover is falling apart and the binding has come completely undone. I need a new one anyway, but I would try to grab this. But if it burned in the flames, I would accept it, because I know it’s time for a season of wrestling anew anyway.

I used to think about this question a lot as I grew up. What would I grab? It gets at the heart of what matters to you. I always had a list of all sentimental things that were a part of my answer — much more than I realistically would be able to rescue from a burning place.

But I think I’ve come to a point in life where I’ve become slightly accustomed to the art of losing. Losing things. Losing people. Losing dreams. Losing places. Losing relationships and friendships. Losing nearly everything I thought I knew and loved. And I’m still alive. I’ve survived, though at times it felt like I wouldn’t.

And now that I know that I can live through loss, now that I am an amateur artist in the art of losing, I don’t think there is really anything physical that would be too devastating to lose. Which is both sad and freeing.

I suspect many people experience that freedom when they get to the end of their lives and most of their people and things have passed on or been lost before them.

The last time that I had to move, one of the landlord’s children had assaulted one of my roommates. It was a bad situation. I had to find a new place within a week, which was stressful. Had to coach roommates through the legality of the situation, how to file a police report, what our rights as tenants were. And we got taken advantage of. When it came down to it, we had every right to take her to court, but it wouldn’t have been worth the effort we decided. The woman we were dealing with was changing her story every day. We were ready to just be done.
So we walked away, took care of business, lost our deposits, covered our legal obligations. And moved on.

People kept saying that I was “handling this all really well,” as we were moving out and I was trying to find a place to live. Which was baffling to me at first because I thought — how else would I handle it? I think when it comes to the loss of money or things, I have a quicker time accepting it — “what other option do I have?” is my mindset.

I remember preparing for a church trip abroad when I was younger and they talked about the “two hour rule”: Don’t take anything with you that it will take you longer than two hours to get over if you lose it.  At this point in life I don’t own something that would  fall outside that category.  And I’m not sure how I feel about admitting that.

But I think the gift is that it prepares me to live with abandon now.

If I could choose, I wouldn’t choose it. But I have been baptized into the art of losing, and I know that it’s shaping who I am and how I live now.

Maybe one day I’ll find roots again. But for now, I just have acceptance for loss, and the stamina to take a deep breath and start again. And again. And again.  I know the strokes of the art of losing. And I know that there is always life anew if you wait for it, if you build it, if you search for it. There is no other choice in my mind. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. And still, we walk on.

This song is by a band called Bastille and I have come to love it. It speaks about this process. This art of losing. But the song itself is full, almost upbeat. It’s become a sort of anthem for me. “The future’s in our hands and we will never be the same again.”

“Things We Lost In The Fire” by Bastille

Things we lost to the flames
Things we’ll never see again
All that we’ve amassed
Sits before us, shattered into ash

These are the things, the things we lost
The things we lost in the fire fire fire
These are the things, the things we lost
The things we lost in the fire fire fire

We sat and made a list
Of all the things that we had
Down the backs of table tops
Ticket stubs and your diaries

I read them all one day
When loneliness came and you were away
Oh they told me nothing new,
But I love to read the words you used

These are the things, the things we lost
The things we lost in the fire fire fire
These are the things, the things we lost
The things we lost in the fire fire fire

I was the match and you were the rock
Maybe we started this fire
We sat apart and watched
All we had burned on the pyre

(You said) we were born with nothing
And we sure as hell have nothing now
(You said) we were born with nothing
And we sure as hell have nothing now

These are the things, the things we lost
The things we lost in the fire fire fire
These are the things, the things we lost
The things we lost in the fire fire fire

Do you understand that we will never be the same again?
Do you understand that we will never be the same again?
The future’s in our hands and we will never be the same again
The future’s in our hands and we will never be the same again

These are the things, the things we lost
The things we lost in the fire fire fire
These are the things, the things we lost
The things we lost in the fire fire fire

These are the things, the things we lost
These are the things we lost in the fire fire fire

Flames – they licked the walls
Tenderly they turned to dust all that I adore

listen to it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MGR4U7W1dZU

photo credit: eijeiii via photopin cc

Joanna O’Hanlon is an adventurer and storyteller. She tries to be honest about the ugly and hard parts of life, and the beautiful parts too. This blog is one of the places she shares her thoughts and stories.

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