Lost Gloves, Week Fifty-One in the New Abnormal

I’m going to think of my gloves as rentals. No matter what I pay, and how I try to keep them deep in my pockets when they are off my hands, I seem to lose one or more throughout the winter-wear season. Say what you will about gloves, they undoubtedly lack permanence. I suppose we could say that about life itself.

When listening to Buddhist thinkers, or mindfulness teachers, I often hear them speaking thoughtfully on the impermanence of life. I believe the concept is true, but my mind goes into a strange denial of things lost. I will retrace my steps a day later in the hopes of finding the errant glove. I will attempt to undo something I said that can’t be unsaid. Or I will try to figure out exactly where or how I can contact an old friend no longer a part of my present life. It’s hard not to be upset when I’ve lost a document, or worse, files to computer purgatory.

Conversely, I’m happy when an unpleasant experience comes to an end. Or I’m finished with a deadline allowing me to move on. I can bask in…