Are you a person who loses things a lot of the time or just now and then? A recent New Yorker article by Kathryn Schulz takes a beautiful wander through the topic. Subtitled, Reflections on Two Seasons of Loss, Schulz examines not just the business of losing things, but also the topics of losing our minds and our loved ones.
Things go missing so much in this house that I have categories for lost objects, not unlike the childhood game of calling out ‘warm’, ‘cold’ or ‘HOT HOT HOT’. I usually can tell that I’m going to retrieve a lost object before I find it and often sense its general vicinity. Lest you think that gives me some sort of advantage, know this: even a ‘hot’ lost item with a felt sense of place can take DAYS to find.
In my early twenties, my checkbook went missing so often that the bank tellers on North Street in Pittsfield rolled their eyes to see me coming. I’ve gotten somewhat better. Keeping a neater house helps. Fewer distractions helps.
In spite of my incapacity, family members are right to ask me where things are, since in addition to being an over-the-top loser of things, I’m a good finder. Is that uncommon? My mother used to call me “old eagle eyes” and ask me to round up her scissors.
When the “where’s my” question is posed to me, it feels like more of an imposition than it might otherwise, because I’m kinetic. Being kinetic means taking notes to remember anything and moving my body to find a lost object. When both boys were home over Christmas, I really enjoyed cooking for them, felt neutral about loaning the car, and got very annoyed with the “where’s my?” routine.
“Where’s my jacket?” “Where’d I leave the car fob?” “Did you move my paycheck?”
I was asked to find things I hadn’t used, touched, or even laid eyes on. Being winter, I’d have to unearth myself from a blanket, heating pad, and lap top (that’s two cords and a lot of fabric). My joints hurt sometimes. I’d groan. Then I’d wander around the house, maybe finding their lost thing, maybe not.
Objects can move from one category of lost to another. ‘Fucking vanished’ is a category, but believe it or not, a mutable one. Some things that I could swear after a vigorous, multi-day hunt have been taken by leprechauns do in fact show up (‘taken by leprechauns’ is a whimsical name for ‘fucking vanished’). The reverse happens as well. It’s hard when something that felt retrievable shifts into the ‘permanently gone’ category.
Frequently losing things teaches you about attachment, sharpens intuition, and inspires resourcefulness. Humility is involved. But those are topics for another time.
Let’s instead descend into my studio, which is really messy (also a topic for another time). Yesterday when I went downstairs to find some xerox color copies I’d gone to some trouble to make a few months back, I wasn’t sure how readily I would find them. That they were pretty much right where I’d thought they’d be felt like a gift.
There are about forty-five collages ready to be mounted to card stock. Then, at last, they will be SoulCollage cards.
Because I hate to measure and really suck at it, it took a good long while to mount just five of the collages. At five a day, I’ll need eight days to get through the pile. But guess what? After an especially demoralizing day of writing, the task actually satisfied. I took my time. I enjoyed working toward a goal with manageable and discrete steps — so unlike finishing a novel (am I finishing? is it a novel?)
Off to walk Finny, then back to my laptop (wish me a more productive day!)
- (thank you for posting on FB Michelle ! Even though we get The New Yorker, I might have missed it)
