Losing it

Posted by on 07.26.08 | 1 Comment
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So this has been a week/month of losing things.

I don’t normally lose things like keys and such. But this week, I left my purse in a restaurant–the same lunch restaurant that I left my purse in 2 weeks ago. I don’t ever remember leaving my purse anywhere before. Twice–same place. What’s that about?

Luckily for me, no one even noticed my purse, and a few minutes later, in both cases, I just went back and got my purse, unharmed and unrifled through. It was still by the chair I’d sat in.

This morning, I lost the car keys to our Eurovan, named Estrellita. I’m still looking for them*. Opened the car up to air it out and look for the battery charger because Estrellita is getting a little middle-aged (I can relate.) Went around the to the other door, opened it. Went on and did something else–puttered around the yard, watering new plants and rearranging the lava rocks to begin a labyrinth in my little front yard. Went to lock the van back up and can’t find the keys anywhere.

Lost my sunglasses–twice. Found them both times.

Lost this post, because I didn’t pay attention to the little battery icon on my laptop. Had to start over.

What’s up with all this? What am I not paying attention to?

Could it be because I’m multi-tasking (dreaded dis-ease that it is)? Could it be because I’m over-extended (multi-tasking with a capital M)? Could it be something in the stars? Could it be something that I’m supposed to learn? What is it I need to let go of: ‘letting go’ being the better part of ‘losing’ things?

Maybe I have to lose it all so I can stop trying to be everywhere, everything. Maybe…I’m not superwoman. Hate to think that may be the message.

* Note: in writing this post, I remembered that I also pulled some weeds in the part of the driveway where Estrellita has been resting comfortably for a couple weeks. Did I maybe throw the keys away with the weeds? Yup. Keys are found, but…sheesh!

I remember once in a grief group that I was facilitating years ago, the topic was something like ‘not being present to our lives’. One widower stumblingly told a story about his week: he had mailed his car keys in the post office slot along with his bills. That story has stuck with me for a long time. We’re always grieving something in our lives, as we’ re an aggregate of attachments that are inevitably broken. If nothing else, we’re attached to breathing. It’s got me wondering what I might be grieving…

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