Me, my stuff, and I.

As we’ve aged together, I’ve noticed that many conversations with my husband include describing, often in great detail, something we’ve either lost or found. The best conversations rotate around something we lost and then found. And then sometimes lose again.

“Where is the power drill?” my husband asks. I dread what he needs it for. Later he exclaims, “I found a power drill in the garage!” Yes, he did, because it is his. “Where do you want this cool poster to hang?” he asks. Not in my house, thank you, I say. Lost and found.

Finding things we ourselves did not lose is even more exciting; it’s these treasures that I simply cannot get enough of. I call these “found objects” our future 401K. We walk together and along the way I’ve found countless single earrings, numerous coins of all values, mismatched shoes, a twenty-dollar bill, and the cutest kitten I’d ever laid eyes on all have come home with us. Lost and found.

{module Share this!|none}What I valued above all on these walks is the intangible thing I have found—myself. Walking in tandem allows us the opportunity for reflection about all things “Sturk.” Will we ever be able retire and when? What about where to retire? How about the kitchen appliances, when will they die? And then there are the more serious conversations about caring for our parents and how will we pay for that. Who will care for us? Probably not the kitten.

Quiet walks alone allow my thoughts to travel even further. I reflect on my childhood and what could have been better and what could have been worse. I think about staying with my grandmother and eating her version of oatmeal, which I am still convinced, could be used to lay bricks. I think of her smile and patience while I learned to read and write. I think about the walks to the church where we had our Girl Scout meetings and how she held my hand when we crossed the road, even though there were no cars for miles. I remember the first time I ate a candy necklace and sipped my first Coca-Cola. I recall struggling through adolescence and the angst that is palpable even today, people I should have stood up to and those I should have listened to. And lately, I dream of vacations I’ll never take, money I’ll never make, cakes I’ll never bake (even though all the ingredients are in my pantry). I think about the last twenty years (since I married) and what has changed and what has not. Have I fundamentally changed? I still vote for the same political party, drive the same type of car, live in the same home. And what would I have done differently? What and who have I found along the way? Lost and found.

Finding “me” has not always been an easy trek. Throughout various changes I have found myself morphing into other life forms to please people. “Sure! I adore kids and would love to watch your seven boys this weekend!” I’ll grit my teeth and say. “Why, yes, I am an expert at Excel and will have no trouble picking up where your previous employee left off,” I’ll fudge. Or to ameliorate affections, “I love watching you work on your car, I find hours in a hot garage listening to you curse simply fascinating!” Of course, we all do this, to some extent, simply to survive.

Not that there haven’t been good times. There have been wonderful times! There have been trips I did manage to take, cakes I did manage to bake (even after the electric hand mixer caught fire for no particular reason). It’s the same for many people, triumphs and regrets. Lost and found.

There are many definitions for the word “found,” but I use it as the verb representing the past tense of “find.” Found can describe objects, feelings or places. Found can describe new friends, adventures, jobs and hope. Found definitely describes the sense of peace I have when I’ve walked to highest point I can muster and simply take a break. Tangible, intangible, it does not matter what you find, it’s that you find it. Letting go of things you cannot keep (like the mismatched shoes) and embracing those you can keep (like your dreams and a kitten helplessly lost in the woods). Lost and found.

I suppose we all need to recognize what was “lost” before we can embrace what we’ve “found.” And on our walks in the hills we’ll continue finding ourselves a little more each day.