rock bottom

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with 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!) disaster.
[ elizabeth bishop ]

We read that poem in my creative writing class, and while I've found I'm not nearly as into poetry as I thought I was, I do actually like it. I'm pretty bad at interpreting things like that, but, I feel like Elizabeth has me all figured out, at least.

When things start going a bit awry, the (what I consider, at least) phenomenon of fight or flight takes place. That is, at least, what most counselors will tell you. Fight or flight boosts your adrenaline so you can run away from whatever is hunting you. Which is funny, because, I've never once been hunted and my food comes to me processed and inside a bun or on a plate of some sort these days. With your adrenaline boosted, you can then defend yourself a bit better, at least, you're supposed to. In all reality, it takes away a person's ability to eat, sleep and ability to have normal, controllable emotions.

Weeks of fight or flight end up consuming a person, until eventually the burn out period comes, or a complete breakdown of emotions. This, is what I consider hitting rock bottom.

Which, I did. In an embarassing display of tears (and the gross stuff that comes with tears that 10 year olds obsess over...you know, snot) and hysterical discontent I almost lost everything, as Bishop describes above with much more eloquence than I ever could have, especially since I just used theh word snot. Regardless, it could have been terrible, but it wasn't. Rock bottom for me was a turning point in this ridiculous journey I've found myself on this year.

I suppose the end of my personal fight or flight syndrome really cleared my head of everything I was trying to deal with. And, maybe, I should learn to sit down and admit when I can't take it anymore. Maybe, just maybe, I shouldn't try and be this little studious doctoral destined scholar I think I am just yet, and instead of taking the path I think is less traveled, I'll do the cliched thing.

Take a year off. Travel, work, enhance and clarify my writing style. Maybe it's cliched because it works and is satisfying, sort of like losing your virginity in a parking lot.

Or, maybe not quite that painful and awkward...maybe just, refreshing.

Welcome to my senior year, readers.