When I was a little camper Lost and Found day was always a day where I found myself in the spotlight. I rather liked the attention of being called up to the front of the dining hall with the entire camp population as my audience as well as getting numerous towels, pairs of socks, hats, and various items of sports equipment, returned to me. It felt like winning the lottery. I figured that with age I would improve at my ability to keep track of my possessions by learning from my careless habits. However, instead something interesting happened: I have molded my ideology and maintained my habits. Since there are fewer greater feelings in life than the one derived from recovering a lost item, everything need not be kept on such a tight leash. Sure one might argue that before an item can be found, it must first be lost which causes a certain amount of pain and discomfort that is most unpleasant. But life is not meant to be lived on an even keel. What is success without failure? What is ecstasy without despair? What is pleasure without pain? And what's winning without losing?
It's certainly true that when an item is lost it's not always found, but that's okay every now and then, it's healthy to experience a certain amount of loss. Without it there is no attempt at betterment and therefore no forward progress; the meaning of life is lost without struggle, as humans can't evolve without striving for improvement. Of course there is something to be said for balance, nobody is envious of the life of Job, and to consciously seek pain, loss, and discomfort is destructive behavior. Recently though, I have found that my karma has slipped a few notches and my lost items are not being found at the rate they once were; at least not by me. Therefore in order to reserve my experience of discomfort on this Asian excursion for squat toilets, limited plumbing, sparse electricity, lumbar pain, stomach upset, and frequent marathon bus rides, I made a pre-trip resolution to keep track of all my possessions. As it turns out though I realize I have a terrible record with these promises to myself: I still don't floss, rarely exercise, don't meditate, don't eat enough fruit, haven't cut meat or dairy from my diet, take too many prescription drugs, haven't picked up an instrument, and haven't read the collective works of Nietzsche. Following this tradition of resolution failure so far on this trip I've lost 1 pair of sunglasses, 1 hot chilly's ski shirt, 1 North Face winter cap, 2 baseball caps one from the Nantucket brewery and one army hat purchased in El Nido. Philippines, 1 bottle of anti-dandruff shampoo, 2 contracto
r trash bags as rain protection for our packs, 1 bathing suit, 1 bottle of body soap, 1 airplane blanket, 1 journal of traveller's email addresses, musings, and ramblings, and destroyed or broke 1 digital camera, 2 ipods, my right sandal, 1 cellular telephone, one headlamp, and the most recent and horrific loss of all came just the other day, my travel pillow. This turquoise cushion was my pride and joy. It was extra padding to place between my bony knees every night, to sleep against bus windows, to add meat to my fat less butt on bus and airline seats, and to support my back in moments of pain. The loss of this cherished item along with the realization that it would remain an MIA mystery prompted a re-dedication to
my resolution and I vowed that this latest loss, with god as my witness, would be my last.
Everything from that point on was going well. I had made it through an entire week in the region of Bicol of the province of Luzon in the Philippines, through our over night camp at San Miguel Island, the hours of bus riding through the winding mountain roads on Jeepneys, and in Noah's Bamboo h
ut house without losing a single item. Then came our last real full day. I don
't know if it was the three or four whale sharks we saw and swam with while snorkeling in Donsol, the brutality of the cock fight we witnessed, the rain, or our participation in the favorite Filipino past-time of videoke (Karaoke but with backgrounds of girls in Bikinis on the screen), but as we were whisked towards our bus to Legazpi on a motorized tricycle Shula asked me to retrieve our newly purchased 1- time-use-camera that had photographed the second half of our stay in the Phils in the wake of our Digital Camera's funeral.
"Shit, it's not in my bag," I responded as I dug feverishly through it. A look of disappointment crept across her face. Then, at that moment, the mean part of myself, the part that makes me make ridiculous resolutions and then purposefully sees to it that I don't accomplish them, jumped at its chance and dug into me. "Are you kidding? Again? What the hell is wrong with you Nathan? You can't hold on to anything you incompetent fuck-up, get a life, you want to be a filmmaker? You can't even keep track of a 1-time-use-camera, yeah you're really the next Spielberg. God what's wrong with you? What are you going to lose next? A wallet? A passport? Maybe Shula should carry your entire backpack so that nothing else goes missing." Needless to say my mood had taken a sudden turn.
A few minutes later, once we got off our tricycle ride, Shula asked me if she could look at some advice from the bible. In my defeatist attitude I chucked my pack that housed the mammoth Lonely Planet Southeast Asia Guide Book to her feet. She shook her head at me and poked through the bag. After about three seconds of scrounging she surfaced casually with the guide in one hand and the "lost" one-time-use-camera in the other. My eyes lit up instantly and I fought the unfoundedly harsh side of my ego right back putting it in its place. "You genius Nathan, you absolute genius. You are truly a Chacham V Tzadich, of course you put it back in your bag, even with all the commotion, you made that resolution and you stuck to it, way to go. Our greatest thinkers have taught that the human race must learn from its mistakes, that history is the greatest guide, and that lessons are to be taken from the past and used for the present. You Nathan are the embodiment of human evolution in the making, you are so capable when you put your mind to it, you can do anything, you are the next Spielberg, maybe even the next Kubrick."
And with that incident I've proven my earlier hypothesis to be fact by way of the Scientific method: There are few greater feelings than the one derived from the recovery of a lost item. I'm happy to report that I found my lost red journal just the other day buried in my pack. My karma has been restored. I promise to lose more.
It's certainly true that when an item is lost it's not always found, but that's okay every now and then, it's healthy to experience a certain amount of loss. Without it there is no attempt at betterment and therefore no forward progress; the meaning of life is lost without struggle, as humans can't evolve without striving for improvement. Of course there is something to be said for balance, nobody is envious of the life of Job, and to consciously seek pain, loss, and discomfort is destructive behavior. Recently though, I have found that my karma has slipped a few notches and my lost items are not being found at the rate they once were; at least not by me. Therefore in order to reserve my experience of discomfort on this Asian excursion for squat toilets, limited plumbing, sparse electricity, lumbar pain, stomach upset, and frequent marathon bus rides, I made a pre-trip resolution to keep track of all my possessions. As it turns out though I realize I have a terrible record with these promises to myself: I still don't floss, rarely exercise, don't meditate, don't eat enough fruit, haven't cut meat or dairy from my diet, take too many prescription drugs, haven't picked up an instrument, and haven't read the collective works of Nietzsche. Following this tradition of resolution failure so far on this trip I've lost 1 pair of sunglasses, 1 hot chilly's ski shirt, 1 North Face winter cap, 2 baseball caps one from the Nantucket brewery and one army hat purchased in El Nido. Philippines, 1 bottle of anti-dandruff shampoo, 2 contracto
r trash bags as rain protection for our packs, 1 bathing suit, 1 bottle of body soap, 1 airplane blanket, 1 journal of traveller's email addresses, musings, and ramblings, and destroyed or broke 1 digital camera, 2 ipods, my right sandal, 1 cellular telephone, one headlamp, and the most recent and horrific loss of all came just the other day, my travel pillow. This turquoise cushion was my pride and joy. It was extra padding to place between my bony knees every night, to sleep against bus windows, to add meat to my fat less butt on bus and airline seats, and to support my back in moments of pain. The loss of this cherished item along with the realization that it would remain an MIA mystery prompted a re-dedication to
my resolution and I vowed that this latest loss, with god as my witness, would be my last.Everything from that point on was going well. I had made it through an entire week in the region of Bicol of the province of Luzon in the Philippines, through our over night camp at San Miguel Island, the hours of bus riding through the winding mountain roads on Jeepneys, and in Noah's Bamboo h
ut house without losing a single item. Then came our last real full day. I don
't know if it was the three or four whale sharks we saw and swam with while snorkeling in Donsol, the brutality of the cock fight we witnessed, the rain, or our participation in the favorite Filipino past-time of videoke (Karaoke but with backgrounds of girls in Bikinis on the screen), but as we were whisked towards our bus to Legazpi on a motorized tricycle Shula asked me to retrieve our newly purchased 1- time-use-camera that had photographed the second half of our stay in the Phils in the wake of our Digital Camera's funeral.
"Shit, it's not in my bag," I responded as I dug feverishly through it. A look of disappointment crept across her face. Then, at that moment, the mean part of myself, the part that makes me make ridiculous resolutions and then purposefully sees to it that I don't accomplish them, jumped at its chance and dug into me. "Are you kidding? Again? What the hell is wrong with you Nathan? You can't hold on to anything you incompetent fuck-up, get a life, you want to be a filmmaker? You can't even keep track of a 1-time-use-camera, yeah you're really the next Spielberg. God what's wrong with you? What are you going to lose next? A wallet? A passport? Maybe Shula should carry your entire backpack so that nothing else goes missing." Needless to say my mood had taken a sudden turn.
A few minutes later, once we got off our tricycle ride, Shula asked me if she could look at some advice from the bible. In my defeatist attitude I chucked my pack that housed the mammoth Lonely Planet Southeast Asia Guide Book to her feet. She shook her head at me and poked through the bag. After about three seconds of scrounging she surfaced casually with the guide in one hand and the "lost" one-time-use-camera in the other. My eyes lit up instantly and I fought the unfoundedly harsh side of my ego right back putting it in its place. "You genius Nathan, you absolute genius. You are truly a Chacham V Tzadich, of course you put it back in your bag, even with all the commotion, you made that resolution and you stuck to it, way to go. Our greatest thinkers have taught that the human race must learn from its mistakes, that history is the greatest guide, and that lessons are to be taken from the past and used for the present. You Nathan are the embodiment of human evolution in the making, you are so capable when you put your mind to it, you can do anything, you are the next Spielberg, maybe even the next Kubrick."
And with that incident I've proven my earlier hypothesis to be fact by way of the Scientific method: There are few greater feelings than the one derived from the recovery of a lost item. I'm happy to report that I found my lost red journal just the other day buried in my pack. My karma has been restored. I promise to lose more.
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