The July issue of The Atlantic arrived in our mailbox this week. During the initial magazine flip-through, I pause only for poems or interesting illustrations until I get to “The Big Question.” It’s the first piece I read.
On the final page of each issue well-known authors and thinkers offer answers to a thought-provoking question. Recent examples: “What is the most over-rated invention?” “What was the biggest scandal of all time?” The answers are intriguing and sometimes surprising. I am not a famous author or serious thinker, but I always enjoy adding my own answers to the mix. (Isn’t that one reason for this kind of writing?)
This month’s question is: “What lost treasure would you most like to find?”
Well, my first wish would be a selfish one: I would like to find my long lost long hair. I know I had some at one time, I’ve seen pictures. I treasured those flowing locks. Continuing on this selfish roll, I would like to find my lost strength. I can’t run as fast, can’t lift as much, and why can’t I twist open a jar of pickles like I used to? And don’t get me started on my lost memory.
I once had a Methodist hymnal in which I had written guitar chords, annotations and and other helpful aids for when I play at church. I have misplaced it and have continuously searched for a few years now. I sure would like to find it. It was a real treasure. Speaking of guitar, I realize I have lost the ability to play as well as I once did. The fact that I don’t practice as much likely has something to do with it. Maybe I’ve lost some enthusiasm. I’d like to find that again.
I’ve lost enthusiasm for other things, as well. Righteous debates over politics and the social cause of the month, for example. The thing is, I am not really looking for that passion to be found. It is time-consuming and mostly counterproductive and often causes more problems with people than it solves.
Perhaps I feel this way because I am constantly misplacing that optimism that I once had. So far, I have been able to find it again, but it is never a sure bet it will return.
Sometimes, when I am first coming out of the fog of sleep, still hugging the pillow, still mixing the last dreams of the night with the new morning light, thoughts come in my head. “What an interesting nugget of an idea. A song or story or poem, maybe. A solution to a problem,” I tell myself. But by the time I get up and into the routine, it is no longer with me and another idea floats away. I would like to recover some of these lost nuggets.
All those lost things I mentioned are important to me personally, but I know they are not what really matters. Other than God, the most important treasures we have are other people. I think about some lost relationships and how I wish I could bring them back. Some can never be found, of course. I will never be able to have one more conversation with either of my parents or with some old friends who have passed on. I wonder about other relationships that have been lost because of time and circumstances, inertia or lack of interest. I hope none were lost because of mistakes on my part.
Perhaps some are best left as memories; perhaps some might still be revived.
As I get older I lose more and more things. I misplace car keys; ideas and plans go out the window. Still, it is always my hope that what is lost might eventually be found.
