A guy named Michael Solomon wrote a book called, “How to Find Lost Objects.” I remember reading this a while ago:
“Objects are apt to wander,” he wrote in his book. “I have found, though, that they tend to travel no more than 18 inches from their original location.”
I think about that when I am frantically searching for my keys or debit card or birth certificate. Instead of circling the globe, turning over furniture and emptying out closets, I stop and remind myself that the thing I search for is probably pretty close to the place I last saw it. I don’t lose things all that often, but this week was a doozy. This week may have been an exception to that 18-inch rule.
I lost my job.
On Tuesday, my (former) boss sent me an email and asked if I had a few minutes to talk. I had been collecting bits of evidence over the past year and I knew with certainty what the point of our phone call would be. It was the classic, “It’s not you, it’s me,” kind of situation. The company who had employed me for 10 years, 3 months and a few days no longer needs me.
I’m adrift. Cut loose. Lost.
What does one do without the routine of work to structure the days and nights? I am finding out. I have stayed very busy. Since I don’t know how soon I’ll start another job, I’m still in limbo. I can’t decide whether I should devote myself to true lounging or if I should tackle all those tasks that I’ve neglected and get my life 100% organized and in ship-shape.
So far, I have seen a movie during the daytime, filled out paperwork and mailed it to my (former) office, taken a writing assessment for a potential new job, gone to the bank, and cleaned out a fridge. I’ve gone to sleep before midnight.
I do have a goal. I am going to get my office spic and span. I’m going to purge my bookshelves and organize my files and quite possibly get my photos sorted digitally.
I wish I knew when I’ll start another job. I wish I knew where I’ll be working. I wish I knew the future.
If you need me, I’ll be by the Lost and Found, hoping someone is looking for me.