The Box of Lost Things
Instagram has this sneaky superpower: it knows how to moonlight as a therapist. One moment, you’re watching someone turn folding a fitted sheet into a Broadway performance, and the next, you’re hit with a question so deep it makes your coffee taste existential: If you were handed a box containing all the things you’ve lost, what would you look for first?
My brain didn’t even hesitate. Bookmarks. Not the digital ones — that chaotic graveyard of “meal prep ideas” and random DIY projects — but the real, physical ones. I’ve lost more bookmarks than I’ve finished books. Some are still tucked into novels I ambitiously started and quickly abandoned. Others disappeared into library returns, probably now being used as scratch paper by someone who doesn’t appreciate their charm. And let’s not forget the ones that vanished into that one drawer — you know, the drawer that eats everything from scissors to your hopes and dreams. Somewhere out there, my bookmarks are probably throwing shade, whispering, She’s using a gum wrapper as a placeholder now? Really?
But the longer I sat with the question, the more it unpacked itself. Sure, bookmarks are a valid choice (don’t judge me), but what about the other things I’ve lost? The ones you can’t just dig out from under the couch or find crammed in your car’s cupholder.
For starters, my patience. There was a time when I could wait ten minutes for a computer to load and genuinely think, Wow, technology is amazing. Now, if a website takes three extra seconds, I’m ready to call my internet provider and deliver a TED Talk on the fragility of modern convenience. And let’s not even talk about buffering videos. That spinning wheel of doom? It’s my villain origin story.
And then, my fearlessness. Remember when we were kids and danger was just another word for fun? Climbing trees, jumping off swings, sprinting on wet tiles like a Fast & Furious stunt double — it was a lifestyle. These days, if I see a puddle, I take the long way around, because I don’t trust my knees to handle even a mild slip. Somewhere along the line, my courage packed its bags and left me with a suspiciously cautious approach to life, where even escalators feel like an extreme sport.
Oh, and let’s not forget my attention span. I’m convinced I left it somewhere between downloading my first social media app and the day I decided watching three Netflix shows at once was a good idea. Now? I can barely focus long enough to finish reading a tweet without opening another tab to Google “why cats knock things over” or “can plants hear music?” (For the record, the answer is “probably not,” but I still sing to mine, just in case.)
But let’s be real — this magical box wouldn’t stop at the big, meaningful stuff. It’d also be full of the little, random things that somehow sting the most. Like all the pens I’ve ever loaned to someone who never gave them back. Or my ability to walk into a room and remember why I’m there. Or the confidence I had as a kid, rocking mismatched outfits like I was inventing haute couture.
And honestly? That’s what makes this question so relatable. It’s funny because we’ve all been there — grieving the big things, but also the silly, mundane losses that stick with us. Like the bookmark that disappeared mid-chapter, or my ability to eat a whole bag of chips without my metabolism staging a full-on protest.
But you know what? Not everything needs to be found. Some losses are necessary. I don’t need the overconfidence that led me to believe I could give myself bangs. (Spoiler: I couldn’t.) Or the phase where I thought I’d die if I accidentally swallowed a watermelon seed. Or, let’s be honest, that phase when I was convinced speaking in movie quotes made me the funniest person in the room.
If this magical box ever appeared, I’d open it with the thrill of uncovering a treasure chest — while quietly preparing for whatever awkward relics it might throw at me. I’d hope to find my patience, a little courage, and maybe the superpower I used to have of falling asleep in two minutes flat. But even if all it had were a handful of bookmarks, a couple of pens, and a sliver of my long-lost attention span, I’d count it as a win.
Because at the end of the day, life isn’t about clutching onto every little thing you’ve lost. It’s about laughing at the absurd, messy beauty of losing it — and realizing that sometimes, what you find along the way is even better. And if nothing else, at least I’ve still got receipts… literally and metaphorically.
