Don’t it always seem to go
That you don’t know what you’ve got
‘Til it’s gone — Joni Mitchell – Big Yellow Taxi
There’s a poignancy in loss that somehow strikes to the core of what it means to be human. From the tiniest baby through to the oldest person we all feel loss keenly. It is an every day experience. I don’t mean it is merely a common experience. It is something every person experiences every day. Sometimes the loss is huge and soul rending – the loss of a loved one, a job, of trust; or it can be a small loss – a button, a missed show on tv, a parking place. The feeling of loss is the same, the scale is what is different.
The odd thing is we can be the cause of our own loss – architects of our own discomfort. As you eat that last chocolate there is a moment of sadness because there are no more to be eaten. A sign of being an adult is taking responsibility for a situation we have caused. Few things are more instructive on these matters than the realisation that there is no more toilet paper. And that the person who used the last of it up was you.
It isn’t only a ‘good thing minus good thing = loss’ formula. This morning I woke without a headache for the first time in over a week. I felt the loss and believe me, it was good. I know the difference between ‘headache’ and ‘no headache’, and I want the ‘no headache’ state back. For people who’ve had imperceptible changes in their world might adapt to operate very completely. If then their world is changed – perhaps a new set of glasses, hearing aids, or a transplant of some kind – they don’t know what they had ’til it’s gone. I worked with a guy who’d had a kidney transplant. He’d done years on dialysis. The big change for him once the transplant was complete? The pleasure of plumbing that works in the old fashioned way. In another context I was watching a presenter stand strangely, and I noticed his belt was rather longer than it needed to be. During the presentation it was revealed that the presenter has shed a signification amount of weight. He didn’t know what he had, even after it was gone – the belt was ready to adapt to any increase in weight, and he still stood like he needed to counterbalance the (now non-existent) fat.
Where possible, I believe the best way to minimise the pain of loss is to know what you’ve got, to acknowledge and appreciate the contribution it makes, and to have a replacement plan in place. I’ve often seen that tension in the workplace – between new blood and the old war horses. Some workplaces have a well considered succession plan that is implemented in an elegant and constructive manner. Others don’t value their staff, to the delight of more enlightened employers.
One of the hallmarks for the last decade for me has been seeing combined hundreds of years worth of knowledge walk out of workplaces without an ounce of knowledge protection. The real loss, the long term pain, the waste, is incalculable. Fortunately, workplaces are not human, and therefore there is no sense of loss. It can be said that no-one is irreplaceable. This is because many employers would prefer to lease machines rather than have to deal with humans. Seeing their staff as living, breathing, creative, independent humans seems to be something that is beyond many managers. And that is their loss.
Manifesto
10. Every day connect with somebody.
21. Every day seek the support of others. You are not alone.
23. Every day retain your personal power. It belongs to you. No one else.
![[Facebook]](http://freshnewday.net/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/facebook.png)
![[Twitter]](http://freshnewday.net/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/twitter.png)
![[Email]](http://freshnewday.net/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/email.png)
