When one plays games, one quickly learns how they feel about losing. Some are immensely challenged, some become quickly accustomed to it, some just don’t care one way or the other.
I have often joked that I don’t play games to win, because if I did I would be constantly disappointed. While I enjoy victory, I have never been too caught up in it. When I read this poem by Elizabeth Bishop I am glad for this, as it reminds me that for most people the concept of loss extends far beyond the realm of board games.
One Art, by Elizabeth Bishop
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.
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