losing streak: disaster preparedness

How do you recover from a losing streak, a run of bad luck, a change of fortunes? When your confidence is shaken–whether financially, emotionally, physically, or spiritually–and you doubt yourself or the universe, what drives you to the point of no return or to the point of recovery?

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My brother claimed throughout our childhood that he would be a millionaire by the time he was 40 years old, and he was. An intelligent and honest man, after earning his master’s degree at the Wharton School of Business, he made his millions by returning to the midwest and combining the principles he had been taught at Wharton with hard work and determination. He won, all right–but he also lost through several downturns in the business cycle. He lost so much, he said, that he might have lost not only his business but his home, too, had he not been able to maintain his confidence and determination.

“Sis,” he cautioned, “when you’re doing well financially, always remember there will be a downturn in business or in the economy, and be prepared.” This was his advice upon seeing my newly-decorated media room–not compliments or praise for the pleasant and comfortable room I’d designed, but caution: Don’t spend all your money on stuff, but instead, spend some of it preparing for the inevitable bad times ahead.

A week after my brother’s admonition, I listened to Ira Glass’s interview with a professional poker player on This American Life (in Act Two), and learned that professional poker players have losing streaks that are not only expected, but can last for months. The subject of his interview, a female pro, said her longest losing streak lasted about eight months. She said that the biggest problem with a losing streak, besides the loss of income, is the loss of confidence; pros stop playing smart and start playing emotionally when they’ve been on losing streaks. Players who normally play a psychological game will begin to make more and bigger mistakes, perpetuating the losing streak. Some never recover.

Her comments recalled to mind my brother’s of earlier in the year. Both of these successful people in quite different fields accepted losing streaks or downturns in the business cycle as part of life. Whole athletic teams experience losing streaks, and the only means of recovery, according to Harvard Business School professor and author Rosabeth Moss Kanter, is confidence.

losing a child: the most difficult loss

These reminders that difficult times, losing streaks, and losses are part of life bring to mind the most difficult period of my life–and how I not only survived it, but eventually found ways to grow through it.

Over the past seven years—what I can only describe as the hardest of our lives—we faced a series of losses, beginning with the unimaginable: the death of our daughter from a terminal illness. That moment shattered any lingering belief I had in the stability or predictability of the universe. Before then, my greatest worries revolved around raising our children with care, hoping to avoid the usual parenting missteps. The idea that one of my children might die was knowledge I kept in the abstract, where it felt safe and distant—even though I fully understood, as a psychotherapist specializing in parenting and childbearing loss, that death is no respecter of age.

It was my professional specialty, after all.

But nothing in my training or years of clinical work could prepare me for the devastation of losing her. Grief doesn’t follow theory; it doesn’t obey interventions or timelines. The best any of us can do is accompany others through it—to witness their pain without trying to fix it. I didn’t know that then. Now I do.

Since losing a child, I’ve become a more serious person. I now understand—not just intellectually, but emotionally—that tragedy unfolds every moment around the world, and that I am not exempt. There is no immunity. As the Buddha taught, life is suffering. A sensible response, then, is not to ignore suffering when we’re momentarily spared from it, but to be mindful of others who are not. Extending kindness, exercising patience, and withholding judgment—especially when we don’t understand someone’s behavior—are all ways of honoring that awareness.

compassionate awareness of loss

As an American, I live in a culture that often emphasizes accumulation—of wealth, status, and comfort—and encourages consumption, even waste. If I follow that path unthinkingly, in what way am I helping to relieve anyone’s suffering? Might I, in fact, be increasing it?

Mindfulness changes those questions—and the choices that follow. I may decide to buy a caffe mocha at Starbucks, knowing the purchase supports stockholders and (perhaps) employees who benefit from my small contribution. Or I may forgo it, choosing instead to donate the money to a homeless shelter, place it in a church offering plate, or leave it as an extra tip for my middle-aged waitress at IHOP. What matters is not the specific action, but the intention: a compassionate awareness of suffering, and a desire to lessen it where I can.

What I’ve learned about surviving losing streaks and enduring long bouts of suffering is this: I must accept that my suffering is real—and also remember that I am not alone in it.

What have you learned from your suffering?