Forgot What I Was Looking For

I walked into the kitchen looking for something. Keys? A snack? That article I meant to finish reading?

I stood there, hand on the refrigerator handle, waiting for my memory to catch up. It didn’t.

This happens more than I’d like to admit. I start down a hallway, open a drawer, check my phone—and then forget why. I blame it on sleep, or too many tabs open in my brain. But the truth is, I’m often not looking for an object. I’m looking for a shift. A little reset. A reason to pause without feeling unproductive.

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Sometimes I do find the snack or the list or the charger I misplaced. But more often, I find something else: silence. Sunlight on the floor. The echo of a thought I didn’t realize I needed to finish. A tension I hadn’t noticed unclenching a little.

Have you ever paused in a room and realized you weren’t really looking for the thing—just for a reason to pause?

We think of forgetting as failure. A sign the mind is fraying. But I’m starting to see it differently. Maybe forgetting what I was looking for is just permission to notice what’s already here.

What did you find the last time you forgot what you were looking for?

I didn’t find what I went in for. But I left the room quieter than I entered it. And that counts for something.

—Everett

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