It has been almost ten years since leaving my old place, and before leaving, I clearly remember packing my books. I had two small shelves filled with reading material, nothing big. It was just a modest, but meaningful collection.
I carefully placed all of my books into a tote, and I placed the tote with the other boxed items that were ready to be moved. Several days went by, and the unpacking was in full swing, but it wasn’t until I wanted to read something one day that I decided to look for that tote.
I couldn’t find it! Every now then during the passing years, I’d go down into the basement and look for the books, but I didn’t see them.
I started thinking, “where the hell are those books?” Maybe I forgot them? Maybe I left them on the moving truck? Maybe someone stole them? I didn’t know. I had no idea.
Three days ago a bird crapped on my shoulder, and people say that’s good luck. I always believed that to be true as well, however, that particular day didn’t really seem lucky, but a day later, guess what happened…
I found the books! They were in the tote exactly the way I packed them almost ten years ago. It’s crazy. I think about all those times I went into the basement to look for them, and saw nothing. Even though they were my books, I guess it wasn’t time for me to see them. How weird is that?