Bereft — Counterpoint

By Lizette Mier ‘22

This past spring break, I sat in the recording room of Washington D.C.’s newest language museum, Planet Word. I glossed over the themes of what to talk about. Planet Word had a recording studio where anyone could share a story for their archives, and I knew I had been waiting so long to come to this museum that I couldn’t leave without leaving a mark behind. Breadcrumbs of my existence.

“What is my favorite word?” I said out loud. That seems fitting. One of my favorite words is the word “bereft”, which derives from the word bereavement. It means something that is lacking, a sense that there is something that is lost. I first heard this word on the show Young Justice—it is the name of one of my favorite episodes. The show is a cartoon about young DC superhero sidekicks that form their own team, so they don’t have to live in the shadows of their mentors. In this episode, the team finds themselves lost in the desert, their memories of the last six months erased. This also erases their sense of identity because they had grown so much as a team together. Later in this episode, we see them revert to their old bad habits they had unlearned. Because of this, I connect “bereft” to loss of memory and loss of identity.

It’s one of my favorite words because I feel like I’ve had a lot of loss in my life in terms of missed opportunities, and missed sense of joy, and just not having access to things because I often grew up because I often grew up in survival mode.

“Bereft” connects to my identity as well. Growing up in survival mode deprives you of the things that give you comfort, that build your identity. To get high grades in high school and participate in the activities that got me to Wellesley, my nose was buried in books. I couldn’t tell you my favorite movies or music or sports. I have no concrete recollection of what I liked. I barely had the time and energy to explore these interests, let alone the money to finance them. Here, “bereft” just meant lacking. It meant that I was lacking the one element that I assumed made you human: simple pleasure.

Under the shadow of the pandemic, the word bereft grows stronger in meaning to me. As a senior, I think about all the loss these last few years have brought me and the collective healing we are all bereft of. As one of the first people in my family to go to college, I feel robbed of the college experience: what I saw in movies, and what I heard from upperclassmen, and from mentors I look up to. The sense of loss towards all the people I could have met, all the connections I could have made, and all the people that might have already graduated. I even wonder if people from my Wellesley experience pre-pandemic might find it weird if I reached out to them after two years of being MIA.

I have come to realize that loss is just such a big part of life. You just have to get used to losing things and living with those missed opportunities. For better or for worse, change is the only constant of life, meaning that we inevitably lose track of friends, of time, of interests. Loss is inescapable.

Loss is something you deal with all the time, and there’s not a good way to address all of it. There’s not a coping mechanism that works for everyone—you always have to find your own way. The weird thing about coping with loss is that you may not even have the same coping mechanisms for yourself between situations. When a mentor of mine died my first-year, I ran and ran on the treadmill. When March 2020 hit and Wellesley shut down, I hastily texted friends and gave hugs goodbye and lied to myself by saying I would see everyone again whenever I felt sad. When my experiences studying abroad were more difficult than I expected under the new pandemic life, I wrote letters and journaled. The coping mechanism changes, but the sense of loss is always there.

Part of me wants to spin this article to be more cheery, like, oh, yes, loss is a part of life and it helps you grow into a new person. Where would you be if you did not have to change? But the other part of me just wants these feelings to sink in. Loss sucks. Yes, it can be an opportunity to change, but a lot of the time it just sucks. It makes you feel isolated while we are told by our culture to just move on. Remember how everyone jumped to saying that this pandemic is our “new normal” so let’s go back to in-person life? No, f*ck that. Let me grieve. Let me grieve the lost time and connections I could have had. Let me grieve the sense of stability I was finally adjusting to. Let us all grieve the alternative lives we could have had with the people, places, and experiences that didn’t have to leave us this abruptly… and not just in a global pandemic, but in every sense of change. The job you lost, the person that passed, the home you had to leave because you could no longer afford to stay there, the favorite clothes that you don’t fit into anymore or were otherwise ruined, the food you can no longer eat, the major you couldn’t fulfill. Let yourself grieve.

One poetry line has been stuck in my head for some time now:

What happens to a dream deferred? - Langston Hughes

What does happen to a dream deferred? A dream pushed away, so far away that maybe it’s lost now… maybe it weighs you down. Maybe that dream was so connected to your identity that once you lose sight of that hope you lose a piece of yourself. I think about my immigrant parents. Is this the American dream they were hoping for? To leave the struggle in one country only to struggle again in the next? Do they feel like their dreams are lost? What hopes do they have now?

“Bereft” and “dreams deferred” weigh on my mind as I approach graduation. A sense of loss for experience on one hand and dreams pushed out on another. I have dreams of traveling and painting, but as one fellowship after another falls through, my dreams are deferred until the next cycle of applicants or until my bank account can support my dreams. While I know I am satisfied with the opportunities I laid out for myself post-grad, I still have that bereft feeling. Something is missing. Something is off. The sad thing is that I don’t know if I’ll ever figure out that nagging feeling that something is lacking. These are sorrows I must come to terms with, maybe a lesson in life that we must all accept. Maybe there comes a time in our lives where we feel that there will always be something missing and realize that living life means learning to fill these sorrows with adapted dreams and new beginnings.

Lizette Mier ‘22 (she) (lmier) has been reflecting a lot on her Wellesley years and is happy to pass on any wisdom or hard-learned lessons to others. She would also love to speak with anyone who watches the show Young Justice. From the March/April 2022 issue. Featured photo courtesy of Washingtonian.