Lossiness

To endure the dislocation of loss, you resort to metaphors. Perhaps that’s our defining characteristic as a species: we’re storytellers. Stories are patterns, and patterns are comforting. I read a book recently about evolutionary psychology. It said stories developed partly to fool others, and partly to fool ourselves. My most recurring metaphor has been the most useful. Many mornings when I wake up gradually on my own, as I open my eyes I say the same three words to myself: Wrong planet, again . Here’s what it means. My space ship has crash-landed, and I’m marooned on the wrong planet. There, you can see the wreckage right over there, still with a bit of smoke coming out of it. I’ll never be able to get back to the right planet, the one with my son on it. So I’m stuck here. The aliens on this planet possess the ability to project illusions. Some of the aliens are very decent and kind. They can make it seem as if I’m on the right planet, sort of, and sometimes I’m even willing