Last night I woke at 2:30am convinced that I’d forgotten something at the dry cleaner. What was it? And where was the little green paper slip I would need to pick it up?
In the dark, I scrawled a note to myself planning to deal with it in the morning, but I was unable to get back to sleep. After turning on the light, I stumbled to the closet, and started pushing through all my hanging clothes. Nothing was missing.
By morning, the incident was like a metaphor. It felt like a whisper from the past, reaching out to remind me of something I once had that was now missing.
Do I continue to search for it? Or embrace the loss knowing that having less makes room for more in the future.