Life now is in the rhythm of routine. I enjoy my job and get true pleasure from witnessing people's simple joy when they get their lost items back.
There are daily challenges dealing with the locker rentals and the lockers themselves. It requires problem-solving, and honestly, I thrive in those moments. I enjoy the puzzle and solution process.
In the background, I still struggle with the sale of my apartment, which requires patience on my end. Most of the time, I can proudly say that I am handling this process of uncertainty with grace. I recognize that I wouldn't have been able to do this three to five years ago. However, there are times I fall apart with incredible frustration. I keep reminding myself this is all temporary.
I do attribute this change in me to my new lifestyle and the beauty of spirituality I have embraced since I chose to live a life on the open road.
How about hearing another lost and found story? Here is one, though it doesn't have a happy ending—at least not yet. I am holding onto hope for a miracle.
The phone rings, and I answer, "Good morning, Lost and Found. This is Gila, how can I help you?"
A gentle male voice responds. Jeff is asking if, by any chance, a wedding ring has been found. He describes it in detail: charcoal black on the outside, wood on the inside, with an engraving (that I'll keep private). Unfortunately, my answer is, "I'm sorry, nothing has been turned in."
I offered to fill out the blue lost item form for him, and we hung up. With so many lost items to manage, it's difficult to get attached to every story. I moved on with my day.
A few days later, the phone rings again, and I recognize Jeff's voice. He's trying his luck one more time.
"No, nothing yet," I say, hearing the disappointment in my voice as much as in his. I promise him I'll keep an eye out for his ring.
Since then, I've made it my routine to check the jewelry box every morning, hoping it will turn up. In my time working at Lost and Found, I've witnessed beautiful stories that show the power of hope and the kindness of strangers. But I also know that life doesn't always deliver what we wish for.
It's been another cold week. Finally, the temperature has risen a bit. When I say a bit, it is 8° outside with a feel of 1° right now. Yesterday, it was brutally cold and excruciating. The -7° that feels like -20° hurts your skin in a few seconds.
I had plans to go skiing with Mel and Sophie, but I decided it is too cold for me. I enjoy skiing, but I am not as passionate about it as I am about hiking. Having the opportunity to ski is terrific, but I don't see the point of suffering from the cold for it.
However, I cannot resist hiking, immersing myself in nature, and breathing in the fresh air as I walk among the trees. Every time I take this trail, I pass a bent branch. Its position changes with the weight of the snow and it hangs lower or rises higher depending on how much snow has gathered.
Somehow, I see myself in this resilient branch. At times, the weight of life's heaviness bends me down, but deep inside, I know I will rise again. Just like the branch, as the snow melts away and releases its burden, I, too, will return to my natural state, standing tall once more.
On the way back, I stopped next to my bent branch. I could feel the heaviness on its branches, so I gently shook it off and set it free.
I am incredibly grateful for the landscape around me. It is truly the best medicine for my soul! A few mornings ago, as I was walking to work, I had a breathtaking experience as the almost full moon rested boldly in the blue, clear sky. Its shining glow filled my heart with such simple contentment that everything in life looked possible, manageable, and doable.
My love for the open road is tugging at me. I feel the pull, and I feel the urge to travel again. What a beautiful bug. What a beautiful desire I have.
However, I have to exercise patience again and wait until May. In the meantime, working on my path of travel fills that void and excites me.

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