Picture this: Ten-year-old me, standing on a stage in front of my entire school assembly at Atlantic Hall, clutching a lost bag I hadn’t even realised was missing. The principal deadpanned, “You’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached to your shoulders.” The crowd erupted in laughter. I wanted to vanish. Little did I know, this would be the first of many times I’d be crowned the Queen of Lost Things.

The Art of Misplacing Myself 

Forgetfulness could be my middle name. Take my sister’s “Shopsy Drawer”—a dedicated space for items I leave at her house: clutch bags, sunglasses, a lone earring, and once, a shoe (don’t ask). Or my sixth-form trip to France, where I left sunglasses in four shops in a single day. (The shopkeepers probably still talk about “la femme mystérieuse”). I like to think of it as leaving breadcrumbs of my existence across the globe. My loved ones think I need a GPS tracker.

The irony? I never lose other people’s things. Just mine. Keys, wallets, money—you name it, I’ve misplaced it. 

Sometimes being forgetful is funny. Sometimes it’s annoying and a lot of times it’s frustrating – have you ever tried getting to a meeting and being late just because you couldn’t find your car keys? During one of the more frustrating moments, my sister said something that shifted the way I  felt about my forgetfulness, when she reframed it as cinematic survival instinct: “In a thriller, someone would plant a bomb in your car. The audience would scream, but you’d live because you forgot your phone in the house.”

That’s when it clicked: My forgetfulness isn’t a bug—it’s a feature. My brain prioritises big ideas over where I parked my car. It’s why I can hyper focus on writing a novel but forget to eat lunch. It’s why my friends do a “Shopsy Check” before I leave their homes, and why my sister’s drawer is a rotating museum of my life.

Mostly, it’s taught me this: We’re all gloriously flawed. My forgetfulness forces me to laugh at myself, to rely on others, and to find magic in the mess.

The Unexpected Gifts of a Scatter Brain

Yes, it’s inconvenient. But it’s also taught me:

• Resilience: Losing things means relearning how to adapt.
• Humility: Nothing keeps ego in check like asking, “Has anyone seen my wallet… again?”
• Connection: My brother-in-law once called mid-panic after losing something important. “How do you stay calm?” he asked. Turns out, my “flaw” became his lifeline.

Your Turn: What’s the Trait You’ve Learned to Love?

We all have that one trait people tease us about—the thing that makes us roll our eyes or cringe. But what if it’s also your secret sauce? The quirk that makes you you?

Maybe you’re chronically late, a serial overthinker, or the friend who accidentally sets kitchens on fire (you know who you are). Share your “flaw” in the comments—let’s celebrate the chaos that makes us human.

And if you see me frantically patting my pockets in a parking lot? Wave. I’m probably looking for my keys… again.

—Shopsy

P.S. To the person who found my French sunglasses in 2007: I hope they served you well. Think of me every time you squint.