One day several weeks ago el Guapo mentioned to me that he couldn’t find his driver’s license. At the time we were contemplating renting a car and doing a bit of traveling about, so his wondering was more than idle curiosity. He was under some sort of time pressure with work, so I said I’d take a look around.
Before our current sojourn in Spain, the last time I lived in an apartment was nearly a quarter century ago. The last time I lived someplace whose furniture was provided by someone else is even more shrouded in the mists of time. In our regularly-scheduled life, we have a smallish home and a mediumish barn, and both of them are what you might call “amply supplied.” In those spaces are many things I use, many things I enjoy, and an impressive amount of things I don’t need but haven’t yet figured out how to shift in an outward direction. There’s a lot of stuff.
If something is lost there, I can begin searching in likely places, but as hidden things sometimes turn up in unlikely places, it might not be so simple. Contemplating a misplaced driver’s license in Valencia, it was a positive pleasure to realize that as currently situated, I could systematically search through all of our worldly possessions on this continent, and do it in a short span of time. I can’t begin to estimate how long a similarly thorough search would take me across the pond, but the difference would be described in orders of magnitude.
As it turned out, I found the license very quickly–I didn’t even have to carry out the “how long would it take me to search the whole house?” experiment, but it was invigorating knowing it could easily have been done. I can see this new feeling becoming a contender worthy of battling the psychological pay-off currently occupying the top slot in my brain, the Satisfaction of Knowing I’ve Got Something to Meet That Need. It has been reigning champion for quite some time now, and is due to be taken down a peg or two.