This last weekend, my husband and I walked to the metro nearest our apartment, with Squeaker in her stroller almost asleep, to greet my mother-in-law who had recently arrived in Santiago from the coast. We were making our way back to get out of the stifling heat, when I looked on the ground and spotted what I thought was one of those slim, stylish cameras. (Note: they are likely not trendy any more with the ubiquity of smartphones, but I’m just that old.)
I squatted down to observe it and realized it was a cellphone. As far as cellphones go, it was an outdated model. It was maybe a hair better than one I had about four years ago. But a phone is a phone.
I remember once, years ago, when I lost my phone. Before I even knew it was gone, someone had texted one of my friends to let her know that she had my phone. I had it back later that day. I always thought it was a nice thing to do.
However, when I picked it up and began to scroll through the contacts–no easy task with the old touch screen–my husband and his mother urged me just to leave it on the ground where I found it. Someone will come back and find it, they said.
“Or someone will come along and take it,” I countered.
“You’re going to waste their minutes,” they said.
I found the first contact “Amor”, or “Love” in English, and sent them a shaky message in Spanish: “I FOUND THIS CELL CALL ME AT MY NUMBER xxx xxxx.” I got warm fuzzies when the phone lit up and said “Eviando Amor” (Sending Love). Blame it on Christmas, but I was feeling cheesy.
It was symbolic of my decision to be more positive about life in general. Like, when at the end of the yoga class, your instructor gushes something about the light inside of you and you are all, “I’m gonna let it shine, b*tch!” (Can you tell I hang out with a toddler too much?)
Sending that message from the beaten up phone was my reconciliation with the universe. Yes, things haven’t been easy lately, but I’m going to give you a break, universe.
Later that night, no one had called me or written me back. I resigned myself to the fact that they thought I had stolen the phone and it was an extortion scam, as are common here. Or maybe they didn’t really miss the phone that much. I even went as far as to say to my husband that maybe taking the phone out of the grass had been like touching a baby bird and now the mother was rejecting it because it smelled like stranger danger. He shook his head. I have a habit of anthropomorphizing household objects.
And, while the phone sits on my kitchen table, likely without charge, I’m still feeling good about things.
Over the weekend, I got called to an interview I didn’t even remember applying to. When I went, the HR Director told me she had no idea how she had come across my resume, but she thought I’d be a good fit.
Love sent. Love received. Thank you, universe.