It’s getting worse. Over the past month, I’ve lost or misplaced my glasses, wallet, car keys, cell phone, boxing hand wraps, judo belt, pocketknife, sunglasses, phone charger, water bottle, rosary beads, and underwear. Thankfully, the underwear incident occurred in the locker room at the gym. I still had my pants, so I was able to walk out bright and breezy, as it were.
The most recent loss was my prescription eyeglasses, which I had gotten the week before. I suspect I left them on the roof of my car and drove off. I remember hearing a noise from the rear window, as though something had hit it or slid off. But by then, it was too late—I was already on the road with places to go and people to meet.
When I mentioned this to the receptionist at my dentist’s office, she told me that her strategy is to keep spare glasses everywhere—the front desk, the glove compartment of her car, her bedroom, kitchen, and even bathroom. I questioned the necessity of bathroom glasses, considering everything’s up close and personal, but I decided to let it go. “But I only buy the cheap glasses for thirty dollars a pair,” she explained.
That’s a lot cheaper than mine because—you know—you have to maintain a certain look, including transition lenses. I had rejected the insurance coverage with a dismissive wave of my hand because—you also know—it’s a racket. Would that I had bought into the racket. Now, I’ll have to pay full price. Maybe this is a lesson for Lent: ‘Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall’ (Proverbs 16:18).
I wish that were all, but it ain’t. I’ve taken to walking into a room and forgetting why I went there. The other day, I stood facing the refrigerator, retracing the logic that led me to its stainless-steel doors. I have to write down detailed notes to remember rewrites and edits to the novel I’m working on. Otherwise, it all goes out the window. When I tell people this, they almost always share a story or two about the same thing happening to them—minus the edits. Are they just being nice? I wonder, as I drift along on a slow boat down the River Lethe.
I like to think this is the result of living in the moment. What I thought ten seconds ago no longer exists, because I am in the “now” of the moment. I can’t think about the ten seconds to come, either, because they do not exist yet. The only thing that exists is the now. I am so focused on the moment that I forget why I came into the room. The refrigerator—like a compressor oracle—offers me clues but no full answers. Yet, I can vividly recall events from years ago, even back to my early childhood. What do you expect from a guy who, as a teenager, went to Carnegie Hall on his own to hear a lecture by Krishnamurti (“Truth is a pathless land”)? Funny enough, I couldn’t convince any of my friends to go with me.
At this point, you might be thinking what I suspect you’re thinking: either this guy has done too many forward rolls without tucking his chin, or he’d better get an MRI PDQ. You’d double down on that opinion if I told you that I often can’t remember whether I locked the car overnight in the driveway, brushed my teeth, or sent backup copies of files to my three backup email addresses. Why do I need three backup email addresses? you ask. In case one of the cloud platforms I rely on crashes and burns from a cyberattack by our friends in the people’s republic. It’s also trinitarian.
It’s all starting to sound vaguely—maybe not so vaguely—conspiratorial, obsessive, compulsive, or neurotic. I assure you, however, that none of this is true. How do I know, exactly? I’ve written it down. For clarity, I only need to consult my journal, which contains nearly all of my working data—my RAM—and a good portion of my longer-term files for deeper, existential use. It’s all very organized and evolved. Now, if I can only remember where I put the journal.
Image credits: Susan Wilkinson, Frank Albrecht. Want more? Go to Robert Brancatelli. The Brancatelli Blog is a member of The Free Media Alliance, which promotes “alternatives to software, culture, and hardware monopolies.”
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As I get older, Rob, the number of such incidents multiplies. Not so much in losing things, but rather suddenly wondering what I’m doing – taking the folded sweatshirt into the bathroom instead of the closet, coming to an intersection and having to remember which direction I should be headed, that sort of thing.
But most disturbing to me is not being able to recall long-familiar names or words that I am trying to fit neatly into a sentence. After a moment of stammering and the forgetful pause, my listener will usually step in to help me with a word that I have been familiar with for years. Just not “in the present moment”.
I accept this for what it is, and hope that it is not a harbinger of worse things yet to come. But since I can’t really do much about it, I do my best to accept the limitation with a laugh and good cheer.
Thomas Merton seemed to be dealing with some of this when he wrote at age 51: “…returning to the present, the real, what is in front of my nose. Each time I do this I am more present, more alone, more detached, more clear, better able to pray”.
I hope to always make the best of things, knowing I am not alone. Heck, I have you and Merton as my guides. By the way, I was going to comment on your post yesterday….but I forgot.
I LIKE that. We’re not getting older or losing our mind, we’re entering into a constant state of PRAYER. St. Paul says, be always praying…
Well done.