Most mornings, I'm looking for my socks

Most mornings, I'm looking for my socks

Five minutes before I have to leave, I can't find one of my socks.

I check next to the washing machine. Not there. I dig through the floor where my child's toys are piled up. Not there. Under the sofa where I carelessly kicked them off last night, in the gaps between the cushions, and even further back.

...Found it. I'd love to ask the sock itself why it was there.

I feel like I was a bit more put-together when I was younger. I'd fold my laundry right away and leave the house with time to spare the next morning. I wonder for a second when things became like this. But I stop immediately. I don't have time to think about such things. I don't even have time to look for socks anymore.

Even so, I've managed to get by. Even if a sock goes missing, or I can't find my keys, or breakfast is just toast. Most days, I somehow make it through to the evening. Even if it's not perfect, the day ends. And then, morning comes again. I've gradually started to think that's okay.

I found the other sock. I can head out today, too.

For now, today begins. Perhaps life is made up of a series of mornings just like this.

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