Lost, Again

Small problem, small solution

Welcome to another installment of The Bittersweet, where I share my search for a richer perspective on the Bittersweet moments that make up modern life.

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This world is filled with big, seemingly insurmountable problems. Here’s me working out a solution to a small, insignificant one.

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I’ve been thinking a lot about random lifetime usage stats. The ones that add up the number of years the average person spends sleeping (26 years), commuting (3 years), waiting in line (another 3 years), and doing housework (6 years).

I’d like to know how much time I spend looking for things: keys, phone… my bank card. I’m guessing it’s a lot, and I would like it to be less.

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The other day, I “lost” my bank card. I put “lost” in quotes because I had a feeling I would find it. I didn’t know exactly where it was, but I knew it was somewhere, and I didn’t want to spend a day canceling subscriptions and setting up the various payment apps.

So instead, I spent the day wandering the house, checking and re-checking all my usual spots: That thin space between the driver's seat and center console, the kangaroo pouch of the hoodie I wore that morning, or inbetween the cushions of the rocker in Tatum’s room ( My card tends to get pushed out of the shallow pockets of my sweatpants when I sit down.)

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My hands are like two black holes, operating completely independent of logic and incapable of memory. When I realize I’ve lost something again… because it’s always again, I look down at my hands like a parent who isn't mad, just disappointed.

I’ve tried to be better, but the downside of being a daydreamer is absent-mindedness. I think acceptance will lead me to a solution faster.

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When I was in my 20s, it was my keys.

I flew around my apartment frantically looking for them, praying they would appear before I was late for work. My poor roomates always got sucked into the drama and stress of searching.

I can’t tell you the number of times I had to call AAA because after an hour of looking, I found them peacefully staring up at me from the passenger side of my 1999 Honda Accord.

Surrender came in the form of a hook by the front door. Once I had the hook, I rarely lost my keys.

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I think the bank card will require a smaller wallet. I have a big-ass purse and in that purse is a big-ass wallet, bought at at time when I still carred a checkbook.

My life is a series of quick errands. I don’t want to lug my purse into the coffee shop for my daily iced tea or pizza on Fridays, and if there’s a baby on my hip, forget about it. So I stick my bank card in my pocket, but therein lies the problem. The card needs to have somewhere to go directly after the purchase. I can’t fix my black-hole hands, but I can change the environment.

Operation: Smaller Wallet starts tomorrow. I’ll let you know how it goes.

This is where I am today. Thank you for listening.

In an era where you have access to every word ever written, I’m so grateful you’ve chosen to read mine.