the prompt: “Write about the most precious thing you’ve ever lost.”
This will require a lot of recollecting, since I’ve lost hundreds of precious things (and thoughts, and people I knew for a time). So I’ll answer this questions in three ways.
1. The most precious physical thing that I ever lost wasn’t mine to begin with. When I was five or six, I begged my mother to let me play out in the yard wearing her sapphire ring, a family heirloom, and she let me. Ten minutes later it was lost forever. The guilt of this episode haunts me still and I hope someday to either find this ring or buy my mother something almost as pretty.
2. The most precious intangible thing I ever lost was the ability to suspend disbelief. Some might call this innocence. A world without solid boundaries, where every experience was new and unpredictable. There was no qualitative judgment when I drew a picture then, just a story that needed telling.
3. And last, thing, in the sense of “personality trait, hang-up:” I once had a thing about always putting away things neatly, crayons for example. Books, pencils, shoes, seeds—I was fastidious once, and now I’m something of a disorganizado, to coin a phrase. Living in an RV with a very neat, orderly, patient man, my chaotic tendencies are magnified a thousandfold. I want the neatness thing back, and will work to catch it.