Lost and Found

I found that copy of Steppenwolf. Turns out it was in my parka the whole time. How could I not notice a paperback book in the breast pocket? I’m not sure. The fact that I normally keep another paperback book, “Trout Fishing In America,” in the opposite breast pocket probably made it easier not to notice. Still, it’s embarrassing to realize, more so to admit, that the book was with me all the time. I remember now somewhat, putting the book into my pocket and zipping it closed as I talked with Kylie and Mike and his sister.

Of course, now the discussion of the “meaning” of such little things seems all the more relevant. Any significance I attributed to the “theft” of Steppenwolf would have been misplaced. I just forgot where I put the damn thing. That’s all.

Or is it?

Is there yet something to be learned from my having lost track of this important book?

Yes. I’m quite sure there is. But is it a deeply important lesson? I suspect not. There are times to be “present” and times to let your mind wander. Zipping a book into my pocket isn’t high on my list of times I feel the need to be fully present for.

I’ll reassess again. Do I want to be reading “Steppenwolf” right now? Nope. I’m reading “Iron John” now. If there was meaning in misplacing the book, I don’t know what it is. But there are ripples in the pond. Because of that little slip of the mind, I’m on a very different intellectual journey at the moment. One on a tack nearly 180 degrees opposite. Robert Bly would be pleased.

And I’m pleased, too, especially that one supposed thief has been exonerated.