Portrait of a Finder of Lost Things

During a youth basketball game in the early 1980’s, according to some physics I do not understand, my Rolex watch slipped from my wrist and fell beneath the bleachers. I didn’t even notice until after the game, when the announcer alerted the departing crowd to the lost watch. Cursing my lack of attention, I rushed to the scorer’s table to retrieve my precious timepiece. A five year old boy, exploring beneath the crowd’s feet, had found it, but I would never know this. Grateful for its return, but far too busy and important to actually offer thanks, I snatched the proffered watch from the scorekeeper without a word, or so much as a glance at the child, and departed. The boy’s mother commented on the rudeness of the exchange and assured him that such impoliteness was an exception to the norm.

No one knew at the time that the child in question would find many, many lost valuables over the years. Though whether this was some attenuation or simply because he tended to look down as he walked around, who could say? At age five, he was still relatively certain of the importance of doing the right thing. He had yet to learn how often others would respond to unexpected kindness with indifference or even hostility. He did not yet know how many smiling faces were merely veneers, which could fall away, exposing the fear and distrust which lurked just beneath the surface. Still, for decades, he would try to always do what his mother would expect him to, no matter the outcome.

Living in New York City provided ample opportunity to find things. Tourists tend to be awe-struck and unaware, and locals tend to be focused and hurried, but both groups frequently drop and lose objects and cash. More often than not, it is impossible to track down the person who dropped a twenty at an ATM, two rolls of quarters on the sidewalk outside the laundromat, or a vial of molly outside a coffee shop. Sometimes, however, identifying the rightful owner is possible, and that is where the disappointment that started at that basketball game years and years ago began to creep into the boy’s heart.

Growing up, after every Christmas and each birthday, he would begrudgingly fill out a stack of Thank You cards, handed to him by his mother. This ingrained, in him, the idea of certain etiquettes. Though tedious, it reinforced the idea that there were social contracts of politeness that society seemed to deem necessary. He began to understand that words were the lubricant of social interaction, and agreed to play the game for the greater good. What he discovered, though, as the years went by, was that many people, especially when money is part of the equation, abandon niceties and seemingly forget who and where they are.

In high school, the boy worked at a beloved, local ice cream shop. It was a happy place, as people are generally in a good mood when they decide to visit such an establishment. However, one day each summer, during the Main Street sidewalk sales, the boy would dispense free scoops of vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry from a freezer cart they would wheel out to the middle of the closed-down street. It was here that the boy became aware of a fascinating phenomenon. As counterintuitive as it may seem, free ice cream brought out the worst in people.

The same types of people, if not the exact individuals, who were so pleasant and happy as they purchased ice cream in the confines of the store, became surprisingly entitled, or even angry, when given the opportunity for a free scoop. Certainly, most were kind and appreciative, but a shockingly high percentage of those being offered a treat for nothing became demanding, griping about the limited selection or “one scoop per customer” rule. They seemed to be so focused on getting what they want, that they lost the ability to appreciate being given something similar, but not exactly the same.

It would get worse as the flavors quickly ran out. Any sort of first-come-first-served free giveaway will disappoint those who show up late. During the summer of 2023, an influencer handing out PlayStations in Manhattan caused a riot. Tempers never rose that high during the sidewalk sales in that sleepy New England town, but the boy could detect shadows of similar emotion when explaining to people there was only strawberry left. He noticed that, no matter where they were on the line, those receiving free scoops were significantly less likely to say “thank you” or tip than those who paid in the store. He began to see how fragile social contacts are, and what that implied for society as a whole.

Over the years, the boy would witness many people dropping money. He’d rush to retrieve it before some unscrupulous opportunist could, and run to catch up to the rightful owner. Another phenomenon began to present itself. The majority of people, upon being suddenly confronted by a stranger with money in hand, think they are about to get conned. Distrust and disbelief immediately flash across their faces. In their experience, it seems significantly more likely that someone is trying to take advantage of them, than the very real possibility that they dropped a hundred dollar bill under their barstool, or their grocery change fell out of their pocket.

Returning lost things began to feel like a chore. Each encounter involved overcoming millions of years of evolution, the concept of “Stranger Danger,” and living in a world where people had become suspicious of kindness. The rudeness began to take a toll on the boy, and I must say that if my actions upon retrieving my lost Rolex set the stage for this, it is the rest of you who have continued the process, leading him to where he is today.

It is critical to remember that the boy never expected, or even wanted, a reward. He had been a myopic child, unremarkable in athletic or artistic ability, but he had started reading at age two, and displayed prodigious comprehension all throughout school. His was a world of books and information. This, coupled with his unusual upbringing, made him feel as though there was some barrier between him and others, some expectation unfulfilled that left him feeling empty. Whether this is the longing that fosters the burgeoning heart of a true-born Romantic or the seeds of deeply set mental illness, he could not tell you, but overcoming the disconnect would become a driving force over the years, leading to adventurous highs and the deepest despairing miseries.

By adulthood he would embrace this, seeing it as a shield protecting him from small-mindedness, mediocrity, and boredom, a psychic defense to keep at bay the slings and arrows of the world, but for many years he would press against it, seeking some acknowledgment from those on the other side, and that was all he ever wanted when he’d return lost things. Then again, that was all he ever, ever wanted.

Over time he would realize trust is the key, and through honesty and decent action, one can conjure portals through all manner of barriers, borders, and boundaries. That, however, is a different story, about how all suffering comes from desire, which intersects with many tales about not getting what you want, but rather wanting what you have.

Perhaps kindness is not about any given moment, but how that moment ripples through spacetime and memory, not just informing, but directing the future, hopefully, down a positive path. So, what are the wages of your fear and my indifference? What has your entitlement and my callousness bought us? If that boy, grown now, finds your wallet, will he mail it back intact or take your cash and your weed and drop it off at the nearest business? If he finds my Rolex again, will he track the owner by serial number or strip the identifiers and sell it for parts on EBay? I would say that maybe the choices we make in each moment create the next moment’s world, but to find out the true meaning of this we might, each, have to lose something that then is found.