It was a simple mistake. I was at the gym yesterday, schussing along on the elliptical. My trainer Derek has given me all sorts of sheets – some with info about nutrition and fitness and some that tracked my progress. He gave me a folder entitled “Me to We” to put the stuff in.
I woke up this morning, looked at my gym bag and discovered … no folder. I remembered putting it on the shelf of my locker before exercising but no memory of taking it home after.
First, there was a contraction, in the spirit of “Bruce, how could you?” But that faded quickly, to be replaced by the urge to go on a mini-road trip. I showered, dressed and headed off to London to rescue my prize. I figured that either some kind soul had handed it in at the front desk or it was still sitting there in locker number … well, I couldn’t remember the number, but I’d find it.
As Highway 74 swallowed my tires, I was happy. I was doing something about my problem right away and I was creating an adventure for myself. The lightness inside was such a revelation. The woe of guilt was nowhere to be found. Instead, there was a simple “I forgot.” No big deal.
In South London, I decided to make use of the drive-thru at a Tim Hortons coffee shop. I was happy to be about tenth in line. Truly no hurry. The parade of cars winds itself around the building and there are big windows at the corner. Many a time I’d sat at a table with a good view of the creeping cars, enjoying my sneak peaks at faces passing by. Now, rather than it being “inside out”, it was “outside in”. I looked in to see my usual table, currently empty. How strange to feel the viewing from the other side. I could almost see Bruce sitting there beyond the glass.
Gosh, this was so much fun. I even had the thought that it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I didn’t find the folder. Whatever happened to angst and badness? On vacation, I guess.
Finally, the gym. “Michael” at the front desk checked the lost and found drawer but no folder peaked out. Oh well. So off to the locker room. I knew that I always chose a tall locker on the left side so I started opening them: empty, empty, empty, lock in place, empty, empty, empty, empty and empty. A little sigh, but really not much of one. Papers can be replaced.
I thought of the occupant of locker number 57, but how would I find him out on the floor? Could it be that my dear folder was hidden within? Then I glanced at the shelf by the hair drier. A light-coloured rectangular object was in repose there. Sort of folder sized. And it indeed was my info-laden friend. All was right with the world.
How remarkable: no pity party … a chance to hit the road before breakfast … and the lost became found. I had the feeling that even if I hadn’t located the folder, I still would have sailed through my day. Strange and lovely.