Lost & Found

What if things aren't gone, just different? Maybe midlife is about embracing and discovering, and sometimes finding what we never really lost.

My beloved necklace with charms from a few of my earliest races, including the Nike Women’s Marathon race in San Francisco.

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The sun is high in the cloudless sky when I reach to the back of my neck and unclasp the necklace. I feel the delicate silver chain between my fingers and as I gather it in my palm, I reach my other hand for my beach bag, its inside pocket already unzippered and ready to hold this precious piece of jewelry I should have taken off prior to arriving at Lake Michigan.

Should have taken this off back at home—or at least in the car upon arriving at this favorite stretch of sandy shoreline. How many times have I thought this to myself after arriving at the beach and knowing I’d be swimming and soaking up the rays? Many times.

But it’s become a ritual: slather on the sunscreen, spread out the blanket, hand out the towels, set up the snacks and cooler, ease into the beach chair, remember that I don’t want to lose my necklace (or get a funky tan line across my neck) and remove the jewelry. At least I have a secure pocket for it, and until this very moment it’s always been kept safe.

This time, the way I’m holding the chain apparently is a problem. Because just as I’m about to place it into the pocket, the necklace’s charm—a Tiffany & Co. small, sterling silver square with the words “I Run to Be” engraved on one side, “NWM” for Nike Women’s Marathon on the other—slides off into the soft sand.

I see where it lands, and then sinks. I can see the very spot! And yet, it’s gone. I brush the grains of sand aside tentatively at first, thinking the charm couldn’t have gone far beneath the surface. Not finding anything, I dig more urgently. It must be here. How could it just disappear?

But it has indeed vanished. It’s nowhere to be found. I’m upset; mad at myself for wearing it to the beach and trying to take it off while sitting in my chair next to millions of grains of sand, and devastated because of what this charm has come to mean to me: a reminder of my strength, of my second 26.2, my first out-of-state marathon I ran with two great friends a couple of years prior on the hilly streets of San Francisco.

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We all lose things as we go through life. Sometimes they’re minor losses, like pairs of socks that separate in the wash or gloves that mysteriously lose their mate after being stored away all year (Maybe the only time the latter didn’t happen was when I was very young, and my mom strung my mittens through my winter coat—does anyone else remember this trick?).

On the spectrum of more painful misplaced everyday items is of course things like our wallets and purses. Our car keys and headphones. The receipt needed for an exchange or refund. Important documents, paper or digital, that we swear we placed right here in this folder or file.

I once lost the diamond in my wedding ring, for weeks and weeks, before it was found by my oldest son one snowy afternoon. Andrew, who has an incredible amount of patience even when tackling tedious tasks and a knack for finding lost stuff, discovered it on the floor of our Jeep, nearly buried beneath a backseat floormat, months after it somehow fell out its prongs on my gold band.

I couldn’t believe he’d found it, and that it was right there in the car all along. His discovery, and the timing of it all, was extremely emotional for reasons I ended up writing about in an essay that appeared in the 2015 anthology Tales from Another Mother Runner: Triumphs, Trials, Tips, and Tricks from the Road.

There are much worse losses we all endure, too, of course—the heartbreaking loss of people who are no longer in our lives, for all the reasons they leave, or that we’ve left them. Loss of jobs, homes and money also can be especially hard and life-altering.

What I find myself thinking most about right now, and maybe this is no surprise given the timing of these words on the final day of the year with 2025 about to begin, are not specific, tangible losses, but rather what is found and eventually gained through any kind of loss.

Without minimizing or simplifying loss and its varying levels of frustration, devastation and heartache, I’m wondering more about what comes later—sometimes much later.

I’m thinking about what I’ve found within myself following loss.

Maybe what I’m really thinking about is unearthing something that was always there all along, even when I’ve thought it—whatever “it” may be—was lost.

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If you asked me, I could provide a fairly long list of things I believe I’ve lost in midlife, and am about to lose. A few things: Motivation to run fast like I once did. A body that always feels strong and capable, even if I take some time off from exercising because of an injury or sickness or life. All three of my kids living at home. A clear sense of what I want to do with my life, career-wise. A marriage that is 110% solid. Friendships that couldn’t possibly ever fade.

I could also give you a lengthy list of what I haven’t lost—and in some cases have gained. A few things: Interest in continuing to move my body, in old and new ways. A body that may feel foreign to me sometimes but is all mine and knows just what it likes. Three beautiful, smart and different kids, each of whom are growing and leaving and figuring out their one precious life. A sense of wonder and awe of what lies ahead for me and what I can, and will, accomplish. A marriage that is evolving in exciting and interesting ways. Friendships that are fewer yet deeper.

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A couple of weeks ago, the thought came to me: I wonder if I could find that 2011 Nike Women’s Marathon charm I lost all those years ago.

Not by combing that stretch of shoreline (oh, I did try, way back when). Rather, by going online.

I began my search one night after ordering a few Christmas items off Etsy. Fairly quickly a few results popped up. I could enter an auction for it on eBay, which didn’t sound like much fun. I wasn’t interested in competing for the charm, or paying an exorbitant amount for it.

Then, on Poshmark, I saw that someone in California was selling this very charm, complete in its Tiffany-blue velvet bag. Pictures showed it looking like new. The price wasn’t exactly low, but reasonable. I didn’t hesitate. I clicked on “add to cart,” telling myself it was a birthday-Christmas present to myself.

It arrived yesterday following a few email exchanges with the seller, who informed me she also ran this same race in San Francisco 14 years ago. I told her how I’d sadly lost the charm at the beach years ago and that I was so excited to buy this for myself.

“I’m so happy knowing this is going to you!” she told me in our brief chat.

It’s not the one I received when I traveled thousands of miles to run 26.2 miles with two friends all those years ago, but it’s perfect and is again reminding me of my strength—my strength that may be changing but has been there all along and will no doubt keep carrying me forward to whatever is next.

A gift to myself.

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What have you found for yourself this year? What do you hope to discover for yourself in 2025?

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Wishing you a healthy and peaceful new year. May we all remain open to finding ourselves, again and again and again. xo

-Heather