Titian: Diana and Actaeon (1556–1559)
"I'm coming to understand that the purpose of Losting, of learning, is not to get found but to get better at coping with feeling lost."

Feeling lost seems the most reliable indicator that I'm learning. I learned or presumed early that I should avoid feeling lost. I felt embarrassed when introduced to some new concept in school, and attempted, often unsuccessfully, to appear that I immediately understood it. Then, I'd feel ashamed as well as lost. Much later, I came to understand that I'd utterly misunderstood the purpose of school. I'd naively believed that it was about knowing, about demonstrating knowledge, when it was properly understood as being about learning, which might often induce deep feelings of being lost, Losting. Up until about the seventh grade, learning only occasionally induced a sense of Losting in me, for I was a bright lad with strong intuition. Beyond elementary education, though, intuition fails to anticipate much of what's presented, as increasingly complex concepts insist upon deriving answers by employing specific processes. Few intuit algebra. Even fewer accurately anticipate history. These require rather more memory than instinct, and forms of discipline demanding considerable Losting before assimilation occurs. If one favors avoiding experiencing Losting, one loses opportunities for learning many things. Once learned, the Losting diminishes, and I suppose that folks can just lean back on their laurels and cruise. Repeatedly avoiding Losting leaves one in a nasty lurch.

A New Year appears and I suspect that I really should be making resolutions as if I was not Losting into it. I should know better than I feel I do, for I feel lost again. I might have more resolve going forward, but I sense something worse impending instead. My sense might just be an extension of my projecting my intuition into problem spaces it was never designed to deal with. I might just get with the program—any program—but I'm dreading instead. I might be learning, for I certainly seem to be Losting, and these two phenomena often travel together. If I'm feeling lost I might well be learning. My intuition insists that I work hard to get found just as quickly as possible, a strategy which seems destined to render me even more lost. I attempt sanguinity, reading books hoping that they might distract me and not merely distance me from whatever I'm currently absorbing while Losting. Turning up the television doesn't help anything. A gnawing sensation continues chewing away my serenity. Something awful seems to be impending. What that might become, I'm still learning, thus the resonating irresolved sensation of Losting.

I'm, perhaps consequently, HeadingHomeward but with little resolve. The Muse seems All In while I natter helplessly, little help and less encouragement. She decided to repaint the utility bathroom off the living room, if only, she said, to check the colors with which we intend to repaint the inside of The Villa. She set about washing walls and setting tape, moving ungainly appliances and removing fixtures while I read a current bestseller. She'd occasionally call for a hand, but needed little assistance. I did sneak out to The Home Despot for supplies early one morning, most of which were not really needed or the wrong item. Hardware stores, as a matter of policy, sell about 40% stuff that turns out to be the wrong thing. Their shelves seem filled with packaging ineptly put back together again because the contents, once unwrapped, didn't fulfill the purpose for which they were previously purchased. They became 'returns.' The returns desk seems the busiest in the store and they'll accept almost anything as a valid return, even without the original receipt, for they understand the underlying deceit their business utterly relies upon. They juggle inventory, creating cash flow with the inevitable delays between purchase and return, as each customer ultimately comes to understand that the lost sensation they felt as they shopped indicated that they were learning. They had not yet learned, so they were Losting instead, destined to continue Losting once again when returning what they'd earlier mistaken for a solution. There isn't ever a solution. This isn't a problem.

I understand that we're actually making much of this up as we go along, with little underlying understanding of what we're doing. Some days, simple resolve overcomes this obvious shortcoming, though many situations cannot be resolved by mere resolution. Bootstraps only reach so far and there's an underlying matter of non-intuitive physics involved. The search for solutions continues to induce considerable Losting until, perhaps, a begrudging acceptance descends. The purpose of Losting was perhaps never to get found, but learning, most often learning what does not work, or didn't work. The resulting accumulation might seem indistinguishable from a pile of horseshit, for it often seems nothing more significant that a collection of wrong guesses, incorrect choices, rather than any reliable inoculation against future viruses. Learning entails coming to understand what's not working then choosing something different (which also probably won't work) much more often that it ever results in ultimately resolving any mystery. I largely fake my way through. I'm coming to understand that the purpose of Losting, of learning, is not to get found but to get better at coping with feeling lost. I'm still learning …
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This Friday brings a New Year, within which I'm endlessly enjoined to be happier, just as if my lack of resolve ruined last year and so I really should resolve to at least try something different this iteration. Have A Happy New Year, just as if I already understood how to achieve that. I'm trying while Losting. Learning, I guess.

I began my writing week considering how done works in Done-d . I concluded that I never know until later that done visited, never in the moment it appears.

I then attempted to make some sense of this world, deciding that this only makes sense if I believe in the theory of AlternateUniverses. We obviously do not inhabit the same universe.

I then vented my seasonal spleen by considering Disposaling, for Christmasing always produces the largest volume of waste of any other celebration. Nobody ever successfully throws anything away.

I spent my obligatory weekly political screed watching our unfortunate detour along the road to more perfect union in ThePetulances. Now we know for certain again that grudges never contribute much to perfecting unions.

I next, thanks to an unfortunate choice of sandwich, took an uncharacteristic day off posting, the announcement of which proved by far the most popular posting of this period. I'm Losting the lesson in this.

My tummy ache got me considering how our HealthScare system works, for it's a system, exhibiting great internal coherence if one understands its nature. It does not work as advertised, which should not surprise anyone in any way familiar with advertising.

I ended my writing week in Schmaltz-y sincerity with Appreciatings, where I attempted to both explain the apparent happy accident that resulted in PureSchmaltz and humbly thank those who continue to visit with me here. I intend to continue posting daily through the upcoming year, whatever else God might will.

Actaeon once stumbled upon Diana and her retinue bathing, an accident which Diana found utterly offensive. She expressed her rage against this great hunter by turning him into a stag, which his hunting dogs quickly ran to ground and killed. Diana proved to be a nasty piece of work. One goes hunting without suspecting what might get blundered into. Writing works like this, too, as well as living, and I suppose this story focuses attention upon what might happen should a anyone blunder into a troll in the forest. Trolls often appear beautiful at first, giving no hint at the nasty countenance lurking within. One goes into forests never knowing what might be lurking there. Doesn't this sound like New Year? Best wishes and thanks for tagging along on this adventure. I'm still HeadingHomeward.

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