I’ve started losing things. It’s very unlike me. I’m usually the finder in the house. Skyler lost a pair of shoes, which in and of itself is ridiculous when you were a size 10 1/2 men’s, but regardless, it happened. Even I couldn’t find them. It took us close to a week to locate them. I lost my house keys two weeks ago. I lost the straw to my new reusable cup. I lost my BuJo and pens for several days.

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I hate the feeling of misplacing an item. Especially the ones that never turn back up. You feel a little violated. Not to mention scatter-brained and helpless. It reveals what creatures of habit we are, and I don’t like that either. I want to be unpredictable. In a good way.

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I’ve lost other things over the years. I lost my faith and found it again, stronger, denser, more dimensional. I’ve lost friends. Some I miss and some I’m glad are gone. I’ve lost pets that leave a hole that won’t ever fill again. I’ve lost loved ones that I’ll find again, on the other side of this light.

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There are things I worry about losing. A child. A husband. Parents and siblings. I worry about losing my kid’s trust. I worry about them going down a path I can’t follow. If losing my house keys makes me uncomfortable, what would that make me feel? Devastation? Would I hold out hope of reconciliation or give up as I did with the keys? Why do we give up on somethings and not others? I suppose to depends on the level of love you have for it. How replaceable it is.

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I got separated from my three-year-old at the zoo one time. The terror I felt as I ran to the welcome center looking for help, only to find him perched on a stool behind the counter. The relief that brought me to the ground when I knew he was ok. There are some things in life, if lost, you never recover from.

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I wonder what else I’ll misplace this year. I wonder how many of them I’ll be glad to be rid of and how many I’ll miss.