Lost and Found

I lost my wallet today.
It was a retro green leather wallet I bought at the bargain bin at Virgin Mary’s for $3, fresh from its previous owner who worked behind the counter. It came with a lucky dime, left in the one zipper that was still working. Now – four years later – neither of the zippers is working, which requires me to walk around with an additional change purse and keep my coins separate from the bills. It’s annoying and awkward, and in the past three years (since the second zipper broke) I made failed attempts to replace my wallet, but somehow I could never find a wallet quite as classy and beautiful as this one. It had to be leather, preferably vintage, and it had to be a cool colour. Last Christmas Sean bought me a red leather wallet that was almost right but then I discovered the card slots were defected and returned it. I just can’t seem to let go of my green wallet.

I discovered the tragic loss a couple hours ago. I drove Sean to the airport, already sad about saying goodbye, already fighting a stubborn sense of loss (yes, yes, I know it’s only seven weeks, but this is me, the queen of fear of abandonment,) and when the custom agent who questioned Sean asked for my ID, I realized I can’t find my wallet. I waved goodbye to Sean at the gate and shed a tear. A penniless, driving-licenseless woman with no identity. Loss was like poison released through the air conditioning system at the airport. A melancholic background music playing through the announcement speakers.

Ahem. Excuse the melodrama and the peculiar similes. It’s only been a couple hours and I’m still grieving. The thing is – I’ve been losing lots of things since I came to Israel. Actually, I’d lost my first item a couple days before flying to Israel. My cell phone disappeared at Mona’s rocking staff party. Once I realized it was really gone, I started thinking maybe it was a good thing. Maybe I should let it go, cancel my number, go cell free. There is something liberating about not owning a cell phone. Then I had a scary thought. Maybe if I didn’t have my cell phone number – the one I’ve had for the past four years, the one many people know as my only number – then I wouldn’t be so easy to find. And maybe if I couldn’t be found, I would cease to exist. (Yeah, yeah, there’s facebook and e-mail and I’m at Continental drinking coffee almost every day, but we’ve established my tendency for melodrama in the previous paragraph.) The thought was disturbing and exciting at the same time.

Next I lost my thin red frame eye glasses. I’ve had my glasses for the past 8 years. My prescription had changed, the lenses were scratched and the frame faded but I’ve been too lazy to replace them. Now I’m confined to my contacts, which isn’t very convenient, especially when you wake up in the middle of the night to go pee and have to find your way in the blur. When you’re as blind as I am, living without eye glasses can be very intimidating. You feel exposed and vulnerable.

Next were my sun glasses. My precious Ralph Lauren that Sean had bought for me last time we were in Israel. They were my first expensive pair. I was always so careful with them.

Then I lost my favourite black tank top. I had just bought it before my trip, but it was love at a first sight. It was the perfect black tank, with a lacy neckline that showed just the right amount of cleavage and long enough to be perfect for layering. It was a staple item, and I had needed one just like that for ages.

Next was my green thin sparkly scarf. I bought it at Salt Spring Island last year for $5. It was nothing I can’t live without but still – it sucked to lose it.

I reacted quite well to all these losses. Really. I haven’t been whining as much as I could or was entitled to. But losing my wallet (on the same day I escorted my boyfriend to the airport!) was the last straw. This one wins, and not only because it is frustrating to no end – canceling cards, calling Canada to stop monthly visa payments, paying for a new Israeli driver’s license. It pisses me off because my wallet was full of sentimental items – my father’s photo for example. In addition, losing a wallet adds to the feeling of loss of self. If I have no cell phone and no ID, no visa card, bank card, driving license, library card…. Do I still exist?

But more than anything, this streak of losses freaks me out. Somehow I feel that it’s not so much that I lost these things as they have gone missing. I know it sounds like a way out, a lame excuse to avoid taking responsibility for my carelessness. But I’m really not that careless. I don’t usually lose things, and all of these things disappeared in a mysterious manner. I threw my tank top at the laundry and it never returned. One day my glasses just weren’t there anymore. I don’t know when or how. Can’t trace my steps.

I've always prided myself on not being too materialistic. “It’s like a gift,” I used to babble to innocent victims at parties, “I’ve just never been easily attached to stuff. That’s why I own so little.” Of course, it’s probably the other way around. Maybe I’ve never been too materialistic because I owned so few things I could get attached to. Besides, I may not get attached to material stuff, but I’m awfully sentimental and can attach sentimental value to the most trivial things. Like my visa card. I was upset to lose an essential item, but I was also just sad to see it go. I mean, it was a gold card!!! And it was so pretty. And it was my first card since my early twenties (the financially-responsible-successful-journalist phase, before India happened.) For years they wouldn’t even give me a card! It meant so much to me to finally get approved for one. At 34, I was finally an adult. I was no longer marginal. I could casually pull out my card and pay for things, and pretend I was somebody with money.

Is it all a test? A way to remind me to not get too attached? Does it mirror the sense of loss that I feel here? Something about being of two nationalities, about being home but feeling like a tourist, about watching my family as I know it change, watch friends age. Watch me age.

Maybe it means I need to let go of something. Maybe I shouldn’t be defining myself through ID cards or cell phones, through stuff. Maybe I need a fresh start. Maybe I’ve been too careless, too cocky. Maybe I don’t appreciate what I have.

“Maybe it doesn’t mean anything,” my sister says. “Maybe it’s just an annoying coincidence.”
Maybe.

p.s. Good News! Since I wrote this, a couple days ago, they found my wallet with everything in it. Yay!!! I still miss that shirt, though.