Yesterday morning I could not find my wallet. After turning my apartment upside down, it was clear that I had lost my wallet in a cab the evening before…again. I had it when I pulled out my money to pay for my ride. Less than 2 months ago, I did the same thing.

How could I be so stupid? so disorganized? such a loser? If all that goes around, comes around, what have I been doing wrong? I felt horrible and so did my children–they couldn’t believe I’d lost it again either. My search delayed our departure for school and truly left me feeling a bit sick. When I got to work, my colleague asked if I had cancelled all my credit cards to which I replied that I wanted to check my apartment one more time. I borrowed some cab money to take Quinn to his four month check up and thought about all the things that were worse than losing my wallet. At least every one in my family was healthy. At least I wasn’t in a car accident. At least I didn’t break my arm. At least none of my kids’ had broken their arms…as if I had to choose between one of these calamities and losing my wallet.

I was very late for Quinn’s doctor’s appointment and had to wait a long time too. I had told the babysitter she could come to work several hours later because I would take the kids to school, Quinn to the doctor and then meet her at home. What was I thinking? Those seemingly simple events required about a billion steps including making lunches, tying shoes, finding homework, changing into warmer clothes, locating the yellow vaccination card, gearing up the stroller…looking for my wallet. I was exhausted before I’d even left home. Note to self: always have the babysitter come help me in the morning–makes for a much better start to the day and worth every cent.

The doctor concurred that my baby is awesome and then gave him four shots, taken like a trooper. As I walked into my building, I asked the doorman if, by any chance, anyone had turned in my wallet. Nope. Too much to hope for–could lightening really strike twice. Two months earlier a huge, burly taxi driver arrived at my door with my lost wallet in hand before I’d even noticed it was gone. Somehow I was holding out hope that it could happen again.

Upon entering my apartment 5 minutes later, the phone was ringing. It was the doorman saying someone had just found my wallet in the street outside the building and could I please go down to get it??? I was ecstatic and incredulous. I claimed it–gobs of cash and credit cards intact. The act of another kind, nameless New Yorker who just did the right thing because it was the right thing. I gushed with appreciation, relief, marvel at my good fortune, the kindness of strangers. How New York really is a small town in so many ways.

Whats the moral of this story??? People, New Yorkers, can be very kind. I can be very disorganized. I am very lucky. And if all that goes around comes around, I am doing some bad stuff and some great stuff too. Diane