Yesterday afternoon, during the subway leg of my commute home, I came to the conclusion that I had left my cell phone at work. I figured that in my day's end ritual of gathering up my discman, headphones, hat, gloves, etc., I had simply left it on my desk. The repercussions of this oversight would be minimal, I knew (i.e., my family wouldn't be able to call me without paying long distance charges, which would dissuade them from calling, which would be okay, actually), but it still felt like a crushing failure that sealed my tragic fate. It wasn't like me to be so unmindful.

I adjusted to the idea of a weekend without this modern day security blanket. And then today, in a frantic search for my burgundy lipstick, I came across it, misplaced and wedged in one of the two zippered compartments of my purse. I considered, last night, that I might have put it away in the wrong place. I called it thinking I would feel my knapsack vibrate if I did indeed have it. I didn't feel or hear that sign of life, so in my mind, it was settled. No cell phone. I didn't even look deeply, I realize now. I just made a proclamation based on a superficial examination of circumstantial evidence.

Extrapolating from this minor incident a larger principle of life, I guess I should be comforted that "just because you can't find it immediately doesn't mean it's not there." Sometimes when it seems that nothing is happening, that's when the stage is being set for greatness. Or something like that.