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I've lost 2 (count em) hats over the past few weeks. I asked Chester (Ai) about it and got back a spew of associative meanings. These land on my situation:
Common Symbolic Meanings
Vulnerability or exposure – Hats provide protection from the elements. Losing one could symbolize feeling exposed, unprotected, or unprepared.
A shift in fortune – In some cultures, a hat being blown away by the wind can symbolize a change in luck or destiny.
Cultural and Literary Perspectives
In folklore, losing a hat could signal an omen, sometimes of misfortune but also of new beginnings.
In dreams, losing a hat might indicate a loss of confidence or personal power.
Repeated loss of identity or change – If hats symbolize personal identity, losing multiple could indicate a period of transition, uncertainty, or reevaluation of your role or direction in life.
Signs of distraction or preoccupation – Losing multiple hats might suggest your mind is elsewhere, possibly reflecting stress, forgetfulness, or shifting priorities.
Alright, I get it: distracted, shifting priorities, loss of personal time and feeling exposed to the criticism and judgments of indifferent, hostile, or critical others.
So, what's the mend? I've replace one of the hats (unhappily as I don't like what I mail-ordered); and will replace the second (likely the exact model). So much for the hats; what about my head?
Kipling, take us out ...
If
I[I]f you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son![/I]
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