The Art of Losing

For a while I've been experiencing the art of losing and I have to say, I'm getting pretty good at it.  That's an accomplishment for Type A's, let me tell you.  And by losing, I mean voluntarily giving things up.  I don't mean misplacing items and frantically searching for them later - that is not me, for sure. 

I mean, opening my hands and watching things fall; realizing that I can sift through them and pick some up (or not) before walking away. 

Losing is indeed an art and it's not a disaster.  It reminds me of the poem, One Art, by Elizabeth Bishop.  I first read this poem in high school and have always found it amusing.  I get that the author is being cheeky and sardonic, but I love it and it seems to speak to me these days.

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.