• Time spent looking for my eyeglasses case: 6 minutes
Found: Under a book.
• Time spent looking for the ziplock bag I brought on the plane and was positive I didn’t
throw away: 9 minutes
Found: In the pocket of my fleece vest.
• Time spent emptying my backpack looking for my gloves outside in the freezing cold
while talking to a student: 5 minutes
Found: In my windbreaker pocket. (The student suggested I check there.)
• Time spent looking for my wristwatch: 4 minutes
Found: On my wrist.
That’s 24 minutes of my life lost looking for lost things. 24 minutes of stress and frustration that weakened my immune system and damaged my self-esteem. 24 minutes that could have been spent contemplating the perfect original nature of all sentient beings. 24 minutes I might have spent in company with the Buddha nature which is timeless, unchangeable, unmeasurable.
Instead, I’m hanging out with that everyday self who is indeed subject to the ravages of time, is changing— for the worse when it comes to keeping track of things— and whose change is measurable— see 24 minutes above. It really is sobering. I’ve slowly come to peace with reading glasses and avoiding noisy restaurants and a few other indignities of the aging process, but this is really starting to alarm me. Not just once, but several times a day, that maddening moment when I stop with furrowed brow and wonder, “Now where could that be?”
All set to post this, but the Hotel wireless is asking for the password. Anyone remember where I put it?