When You Lose Something 🧥

I recently lost some of my favorite clothes. Not the kind of loss like "I misplaced my sock." A full garment bag. Gone. Vanished. Disappeared.

It had outfits I had carefully chosen for a few days away. Exactly everything I needed, all the looks I had thought through. Somewhere between one stop and the next it disappeared. I still don't know how.

Did it fall out of the trunk? Did I never put it in? Did someone take it? I retraced every step, called every place we'd been, hoping someone had turned it in.

Nothing.

Of course I did what I always do. I called on St. Anthony.

Dear Saint Anthony, please come around, something's been lost and it can't be found.

That prayer has worked for me so many times it almost feels like a party trick, with things turning up in ways that made no sense. But not this time.

That's the thing about losing something. You don't just lose the thing. You lose the story and everything around it. You're left wondering what happened, where it is, who has it now.

I know someone is wearing my favorite Citizens of Humanity jeans right now. The style they don't even make anymore. Perfect. Broken in just right. Someone is out there in my brand new carpenter pants that I definitely paid too much for. And I'm pretty sure someone is very comfortable in my Rag & Bone denim jacket.

I still think about a Chanel jacket I lost years ago. Lost or stolen, I'll never know. But I think about it.

I know. It's just stuff. You can't take it with you. I agree in theory. But these things don't just sit in my closet. They've become part of how I move through the world. They feel like me.

So yeah. I miss my clothes. And I'm not quite ready to be philosophical about it.

Where are you, St. Anthony?