On Tuesday, I lost my phone on my commute home from BART. I had it one station away from my final destination, and then, just like that, as I was walking from the station to get picked up, I didn’t have my phone.
If you know me, you may or may not know that I hate losing things. (I try my hardest not to lose things, so even if you know me, you might not have seen me lose something. Which is why you may or may not know that I hate losing things.) I don’t know anyone who likes losing things, but for me, the sudden realization that I may not have possession of something I thought I had has the unpleasant effect of dropping me down towards the depths of despair.
Extreme, I know. Dramatic, I know. Recently, a friend asked who was the more emotional one in my relationship with my boyfriend – I answered that he is more emotional but I am way more dramatic.
Needless to say, I started to panic – especially since my mom was waiting for me to pick me up and I knew that if I didn’t show up soon (or answer my phone) then she would also start thinking in worst case scenario terms and start worrying. (This is where I get it from.) I ended up running back and forth from car to station twice, to let my mom know the situation and to try and scour the train for my phone before it left for San Francisco. Since I live at the end of the line, the train will get turned around and start going in the other direction – I almost got caught on the train, actually, as the doors closed (why BART does this like 5 minutes before it actually leaves, I still have no idea) but luckily I kept my wits about me (barely) and found a door in a car that was open.
I’m not sure why I hate losing things so much. I used to think it was because I didn’t want to be like my brother, whose lovable quirk is that he loses things, all sorts of things, often. It’s not that I am incredibly materialistic and like omg, I would die without my phone! – although I did set a passcode on my phone for the first time just in case this happens again.I think, underneath it all, I am just a huge, neurotic, control freak. I hate the idea of not being in control, of not “having it all together” (ha), of not knowing what is going on with myself at all times. I hate not knowing the plan. I also have the tendency to stress out at the wrong (little) things and not at the right (bigger) things. Hence, the panic at losing my phone. I
almost cried. It’s just a phone!
Thankfully, gratefully, there was a nice BART worker who actually found my phone and it was returned to me that same night – after continuous prayer and calling by my mom (who has been dealing with my bad stress habits since ’91 and once helped me find lost bobby pins – holla). So all’s well that end’s well, I guess – but the night made me realize that I should probably not stress out as much about things like this. At the end of it all, it’s just tiring.
On the plus side, all that running back and forth got me 12,000 FitBit steps! So there’s the silver lining of the night.