I lost my clothes.
I truly did.
Oh.
Wait.
Not all of them.
I sit here clothed,
No worries.
No naked typing 
Is happening, 
Nor
Will it ever.

Having limited closet space and too much stuff, I typically move non-seasonal clothing, in bins, down to the basement-storage-area-from-hell.  All was normal last fall and, as memory will allow, as I returned a bin of spring-summer clothes downstairs.

Ah.  
The perfectly curated shorts, tested over the years.  
Long enough.  
Comfortable enough.  
Yet acceptable enough. 
To be worn.

The perfect super-light-weight hiking pants.
The curated over-time bathing suit.
The one that fits.
Etc.

I bid them all farewell 
For the season.

Okay, fast forward.
Spring is here.
A few weeks ago,
I trudge downstairs.

I look.
I look.
I look again.
Yet—
There is no bin of spring/summer clothes.
None.
Not here.
Gone.

Over the few weeks.  I looked.  I double-looked.  
I triple-and-quadruple-looked.
I had my spouse look behind me.
I arranged.
I rearranged.

I appealed to Saint Anthony.
I called my 12 Step sponsor
To talk about my feelings.
I arranged bins some more.

I engaged others
To petition
Saint Anthony.

I talked to my therapist.

Alas.
They are gone.
Individually and collectively.
The bin is not here now.

Obviously human error (mine)
Must somehow be woven into this mystery, 
As my spouse reminds me.

I have gone through different stages of grief.
Denial!
Anger!!
What the f?
Bargaining.
And so on.

Lost.  Lost in space.  My familiar.  The comfortable.  Fits good enough.  Looks okay enough.  Berkshire wear.
The shirts just-a-cut above t-shirt, fine for teaching. Gone.

Why write about this?
Because it is happening.
Because it is teaching me.
I am aware of my privilege.
I am aware of this, a First World
Problem of Ridiculousness.

In the face of our world where people
Children, old women,
So many,
Displaced, 
Hungry,
Wander,
What am
I saying?

I am saying:
Life is asking me to let go of what is comfortable.

Life is asking me to do something differently.
I don’t want to.
Alas.
I must.

Alas.
Letting go.

Alas.
Time to change.
~~~
Not to minimize the losses you all might be experiencing.

Truly,
I cannot imagine, from all of us reading this, 
What life is asking of us, 
Individually
And
Collectively
To let go of.

And still,
Grief is grief.
Loss is loss.

Perhaps my feeling this loss,
Experiencing this loss
Is a way of feeling the losses
In the world?

I am sad.
And
I am confronted
Anew 
By my aging,
Winter-weighted
Body

In new shorts!
~~~
There is a powerful slogan in 12 Steps,
Feel free to edit it so it might work for you:

Life is doing for me what I cannot do for myself.

Ugh.
And.
Yes.
~~~
Here is the Memories Project, celebrating Ysaye Barnwell, forever-former member of Sweet Honey in the Rock, freedom advocate, musicologist, brilliant light.  It is a celebration of her birthday, as different groups interpret her wonderful songs, Wanting Memories.

I probably offered you this song, this video before, because I love that much.
Please watch again.
It works.

The Memories Project Celebrating Ysaye Barnwell

I am sitting here wanting memories to teach me
To see the beauty of the world
Through my own eyes…

~~~
Dear Friends,

Whatever the size, shape, dimension
Of our pain today—
If there be any,
It counts.

One new loss triggers old.
One new grief unleashes
Memories of all.

May we place our pain
Upon the altar of our hearts.

May we pray for a world
Where all are safe
And
Free
And fed
And homed
And protected.

May all beings benefit from our words shared today.

Blessings, Aruni