This morning, my husband and I were searching for a missing plate. One of those everyday plates we only use at the dinner table. Washed in the sink or dishwasher, dried, and returned to its spot in the cabinet. How does an entire dish go missing when its life is that simple?
He found it almost immediately. It had been placed in another stack of similar dishes, one shelf up.
"It's not lost. It's just where you aren't looking."
The night before, my son couldn't find the blankie he sleeps with every night. This was right after the house had been cleaned. We searched everywhere that made sense to us. Under the comforter. Folded in with his stuffies. In his closet. In the playroom. Nothing.
Then my husband pulled it out of the dryer.
In both cases, the thing wasn't really lost. It was sitting somewhere that made perfect sense, just not to us. The plate made sense to whoever put it on the higher shelf. The blankie made sense to whoever was being thorough with the laundry. We just hadn't thought to put ourselves inside their logic.
I've been sitting with this all morning, because I think it's true of more than dishes and blankets.
So much of what we call lost in our lives, the clarity, the direction, the next step, the version of ourselves we used to recognize, isn't actually gone. It's somewhere we haven't thought to look. And depending on where we are in our own journey, "looking in the right place" can mean different things.
Sometimes it means simply searching a new shelf. The answer is in the same house, just not where we expected.
Sometimes it means borrowing someone else's eyes. A partner, a friend, a coach, someone whose logic isn't ours and who can walk straight to the dryer while we're still tearing apart the bedroom.
And sometimes, it means questioning whether the thing was ever really lost at all. Whether what we've been mourning is just out of view, waiting in a place that will eventually make total sense once we get there.
These aren't three separate strategies. They're a continuum. We move along it depending on the moment, the season, and how much grace we can extend to ourselves while we look.
So here's what I want to invite you to consider:
What in your life feels lost right now?
And before you spend more energy grieving it, ask yourself: am I just looking in the places where it usually lives? Or is it possible that it's exactly where it needs to be, and I haven't yet learned to look there?
If this resonated, you might find more in the rest of my writing, or by working together through coaching. And if someone you love keeps saying they feel lost, consider passing this along. Sometimes the kindest thing we can do is help each other look in a new place.
Lauren
