Sometimes the simplest solution can be the best medicine for jumbled thoughts.
Approx. 1000 words; 5 minutes read time
From an early age, I struggled with being aloof. I guess it is because I get so engrossed in whatever it is I am doing. This absentmindedness caused me all kinds of difficulties as a kid. School was a challenge, and I labored to pay attention. Learning to ready myself and be on time was also difficult1. A particular challenge was that I often misplaced my wallet. Granted, this was not like an adult's billfold – with credit cards, driver license, and other important things. But it did have my library card, a few pictures I cherished, and the little bit of cash I had. As a preteen, losing it was a big, stressful deal.
Misplacing stuff for me extended far beyond my wallet. As a creative kid, I'd get engrossed in making things and invariably lose track of what I was using. Hammers, wrenches, pencils, markers, brushes – all would go missing2. But losing my wallet was the most jarring of all. Doing so on an already chaotic morning was panic-inducing. Even when I would find it (as I always did), the distress caused was deep and lasting. Seeing me constantly in knots worried my mom to no end.
One morning had been particularly hard as I went through this all-too-frequent cycle3. Whatever had been going on that morning or the day before, the experience was harrowing. I didn't recover all day – I couldn't focus. I was sad. My friends had felt like obstacles I had to avoid. And my classes were excruciating punishment. By the time I made it home, all I wanted to do was hide.
My head hung low as I walked in the door that afternoon. I was ready to retreat in solitude, but Mom met me as I entered the house. "John, let me show you something." I wasn't in the mood and grumbled at her like kids are apt to do. But she kindly insisted and led me down the hallway.
Little did I know that my life was about to change.
As we reached the doorway to my room, I noticed there on my bookcase she had placed a small, wicker basket. It was nothing special at all, a modest receptacle in plain view. "Why don't you try putting your wallet in here each day," she said, pointing at the basket. "That way, it is there every morning when you need it again." "Okay, thanks," I grunted, and dropped my wallet in.
We didn't speak any more about it. I went on with my afternoon, engrossed in making while recovering. I found that creating helped me forget my troubles, a lesson I would carry with me into adulthood. But this afternoon was unique as the worries disappeared more quickly than usual. Mom's kindness had been helpful, as always. But more than that, I had a new feeling like things were going to get better.
The next morning, I grabbed my wallet from the basket, remembering what Mom had said. That afternoon, in it went, right where I had found it earlier. And there it would go from then on.
What Mom instilled in me that day was the power of routine. Up until then, routine had felt like the challenge. Routine was the same bothersome thing over and over. But without it - novel events like new homework and schedule changes overwhelmed me. With my aloof nature, diversity was the real challenge, not routine.
Routine was my friend.
The peace I felt that afternoon was from this new perspective. I could now better deal with the unknowns brought on each day. The simple act of putting my wallet in that basket had freed me to do more. Instead of chaotic mornings searching, I was calmer and more focused. And the peace of mind I had, knowing where my wallet would be each day, was reassuring—a simple act to be sure. But grand and far-reaching were the implications it would have for me. I was now more in control, and that was empowering.
I soon learned to apply this control to other challenges in life. My room became cleaner, and my projects were more organized. Sure, I'd still get lost in my head and misplace things. But less so. And as time went on, I addressed many obstacles that were once defeating. I became a better student by organizing my notes. My thoughts before, a jumbled mess, became focused and clear. Projects benefited too, and in turn, I was more industrious. Without the distraction of losing stuff, I was less anxious and even more creative.
I've continued to grow over the years, and today, for the most part, I would say I keep my life in order. In the simple act of addressing the lost wallet, Mom helped me to tame some of my inner demons. But don't let my tidy home and organized Lab fool you. I am still the same messy, distracted kid inside. But I've learned a few simple daily routines that keep my aloof mind in check. I'm now free to do so much more.
And I know right where my wallet is. Now, where did I put my glasses?
1 Psychologists like to assign serious sounding names to behavior like mine. I prefer to think of it as crap I have to deal with in being me.↩
2 To make matters worse, my room was a tangled mess of half-built models, chemistry experiments in process, strewn about action figures, and piles of clothes littering the floor. It’s a wonder I didn’t get lost in there myself. ↩
3 It seems like an easy fix today, but as a preteen, this was a real struggle. I didn’t yet know how to train my mind otherwise. ↩