Inspired by a writing prompt to list what has been lost or changed over time, here are my reflections on the small and large things that have faded from my life.
The fear of spiders: now a manageable caution, requiring only a well-lit space and a handy cup to gently escort them outside, far from me.
My childhood comfort blanket: mine from the day I was born, stored away since college, and now a source of solace for my daughter, comforting her fears of the dark.
The fleeting memory of why I entered a room: a familiar moment of mental blankness.
A collection of misplaced items: a sofa, two seatbelts, several pairs of glasses, an internet line, favorite pens, three library books, and a talking, singing, dancing, light-up stuffed bear – which wasn’t much of a loss, to be honest. But then there are the items destroyed by a mischievous pet – a true nightmare.
The beloved recipe for ranch-flavored baked pretzels: somehow the ingredients have vanished from my memory, while the lyrics to every song I listened to on the radio in the 90s remain perfectly intact.
A dozen pairs of high heels: along with any desire to wear them. My shoe closet from twenty years ago has downsized to practical footwear like one pair of sneakers, rubber rain boots, hiking boots, and two pairs of sandals – both bearing a pet’s teeth marks.
A distinct zebra print rug: misplaced during a cross-country move. It wouldn’t quite suit my current home’s decor anyway.
My attention span: a casualty of endless tasks, demands, distractions, and constant scrolling.
The name of a girl from a college poetry course who borrowed a book and left insightful, funny notes within its margins: Rereading that collection now, her sharp observations make me wish that friendship had lasted.
The perfect black raincoat: left on public transport during early spring, when blossoms bloom and leave a faint vanilla scent in the air. Lost due to the simple act of reading a book and disembarking mid-page, leaving the coat behind on the seat.
My once ample forbearance: now diminished for trivial annoyances – a lousy government, inattentive teachers, rude waitstaff, line-cutters, or litterers. My patience in midlife is now reserved for the truly important: pets, children, and my husband. There simply isn’t room for more.