The Elusiveness of What's Special

For half of today, Blogger ate Thursday's clutter busting post about Geoffrey Baker, my art teacher. At first I was frustrated because I couldn't figure out how to get the post back. Then I was sad because it was special to me and I wanted to share it with you (in case you hadn't read it yet.) But then I felt like Tom Hanks in Cast Away when he realized he couldn't save his friend Wilson, the volleyball, and I let it go.

It's funny how some things have a temporary time in our lives and they resist being held. We have the impulse to hold onto things we feel are special. They take care of us in some way and we want them to keep doing so. And then they're gone. It could be a job, a person, a moment.

I remember owning the greatest blue sweater. The sweater was one of the few items of clothing I ever loved. I put the sweater in a dryer at the laundromat and went to the deli next door for a soda. I came back and the dryer door was open and the sweater was gone. Someone kidnapped my sweater! I looked all over and couldn't find the sweater. My heart hurt.

Sometimes I think if I didn't occasionally lose special things, I wouldn't appreciate the special things that for some reason or another stick around. I look around at what matters to me and I cherish it because tomorrow it could break, or I could lose it, or it might leave me. Or it might lose specialness in my eyes.

The things that matter are in the moment. Who knows what's next.