#141: The art of making a mistake, gracefully.
We’ll never stop screwing up. A story about how I realized that’s okay.
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It happened in the Quiet Car.
That's my happy place on the Acela Train — library-level voices only, peace and quiet with a view. On the ride from DC to NYC, I typically stare out the window taking in five-second glimpses of other people's lives. Run-down row houses in Baltimore. Power plants in Delaware. Above-ground pools in New Jersey.
But this trip, I was heads-down in a book when we pulled into Penn Station's darkness. The conductor's voice boomed through my trance. I flailed around grabbing bags — tote bag, roller bag, trash bag. I snatched up my crossbody bag that had fallen to the floor, surprised to find the zipper open. Whatever, no time! I thought. And so I slung it over my shoulder without registering its lighter weight.
Hours later, my missing sunglasses were my first first clue.
Wait. If I lost those, what else is missing?
I rummaged through the yellow lining of the tiny black bag.
Ah, nuts.
No car key.
I texted Kendall immediately: I lost my damn car key.
She texted back: Ah, that sucks. Ok, I grabbed the spare from the junk drawer, I'll put it in my bag right now and bring it with me when I meet you up there tomorrow.
Crisis averted, right? But I still felt stupid. Embarrassed. Annoyed about having to plop down a stack of cash for my carelessness.
I'm an expert in loss. Shouldn't this be no big deal?
Nope. Not even loss experts are immune to feeling like idiots.
The requisite pity party.
When I got to my hotel, I confirmed nothing else was missing and then flopped face-first onto the bed like a teenager who'd just been grounded. The soft cotton sheets smelled like expensive laundry detergent, which made feeling sorry for myself feel even more ridiculous.
On the inside of my eye lids, I replayed the train scene. How did I not notice the bag felt lighter? Why didn't I check the zipper? What kind of dummy loses a car key in 2025?
Ten self-pitying minutes later, I rolled over and FaceTimed Kendall.
"Hey mom, I got the car key!” She dangled the fob in front of the camera.
“Thank you, sweetie. But god, I’m such an idiot!”
"Mom." She gave me that look — the one she somehow mastered at three years old — that promises a loving bitch slap. "You realize this happens to literally everyone, right? Like, constantly. Remember when both Connor and I lost your credit card one semester? Did you tell us we were stupid?"
"No, of course not."
"Right. Because mistakes happen. You always say that." She leaned closer to the camera. "So why are you being meaner to yourself than you'd be to a stranger?"
I didn't have a good answer for that.
"Look, you lost a thing. It sucks, but it doesn’t mean you’re worthless. Next week, we’ll get a new key and forget this even happened."
Hanging up, I realized she was right. I'd been so busy beating myself up that I'd forgotten the obvious: this stuff happens to everyone. As much as we hope, pray, DREAM that we’ll outgrow these silly little mistakes, we don’t. We’re spacey young adults, then we graduate into being exhausted parents and hyper-focused managers and execs. Then by the time our kids fly the coop, our careers sunset, and we have a moment to breathe again, we’re back to being a little spacey. And truth be told, we have better ways to spend our time than being absolutely perfect at keeping track of our belongings.
Time to get off this bed and rejoin the human race.
Walking it off.
An hour later, I was wandering through Manhattan with no particular destination. Something about moving my body always helps my brain stop spinning in circles, and the endless sights, sounds, and smells of NYC just makes it easier.
Past the Flatiron Building. Through Union Square. Down streets lined with bookstores and coffee shops and the kind of small businesses that make you believe in humanity.
As I walked, I considered the inception point of my meltdown. Somewhere deep down, I believed I should be smart enough to prevent Every Single Mistake. Like I'm some extra-super version of Superwoman who can also predict the future.
I sighed as I rounded the corner onto Broadway, heading back to Penn Station.
We have as much chance of successfully predicting (and avoiding) all mistakes as we have of learning to fly. Focusing on this pipe dream will drive any person mad. A much better use of our energy is getting good at what comes after.
Mistake-recovery over mistake-prevention.
My pace slowed as the pieces clicked into place. All we can do is own the mistake, fix what you can, and don't be a jerk to yourself about it in the process. Nobody benefits from you walking around like a wounded, grumpy bear all day.
By the time I reached the Amtrak information desk, I'd walked off my self-attack spiral. I approached the man in the red and grey vest with a sheepish smile. After my monologue explaining my snafu, he said, "these things happen," with such kindness that I almost teared up. He then directed me to the lost and found, where yet another helpful human gave me detailed instructions about how to file a claim, where to check its status, and where to call back in a week.
Walking out of the lost and found office, I felt something I'd forgotten in my fumbling-with-bags panic: grace.
If I could extend myself even half the compassion these strangers had shown me, this day didn't have to be a total wash.
I was so lost in this revelation that I almost walked right past the tall man with the black backpack.
Serendipity, you scoundrel.
I did a double take. The man looked familiar. Not a movie star… Not someone from my corporate life…
Holy shit! It was Dr. George Bonanno, my favorite resilience researcher! (Yes, I have one of those.)
I've been drafting Do Loss for six months and his work is everywhere in it. My favorite quote of his, "resilience is our default mode" has profoundly influenced my writing and my life.
"Dr. Bonanno?" I said quietly enough that if it wasn’t him, it wouldn’t be too weird.
He turned, the mild confusion on his face indicating he was likely expecting a student, and wasn’t sure what to do upon seeing a middle-aged woman with a crossbody bag instead.
I stuck out my hand. "I write about loss and vibrant living. Your work has been foundational. I just wanted to thank you."
His uncertainty melted into a smile. We talked briefly about The Luminist and the book. "Keep up the good work!" he said as we parted ways.
I practically floated out of Penn Station. Lost car key? What lost car key?
Maybe the universe was saying sorry for the morning's chaos. Maybe this whole ridiculous day happened just so I could bump into the researcher whose ideas shaped my approach to everything. Or maybe I was being reminded that a mistake doesn’t have to ruin anything, not even an afternoon.
I smiled as I played back how it had happened. If any piece of the last two hours had gone differently — the pity party, Kendall’s pep talk, the processing stomp, and then the surrendered stroll here — I would have missed Dr Bonanno completely.
And just like that, my carelessness became a happy mistake.
Epilogue.
Six weeks later, Kendall was right — I'd almost forgotten about the whole thing. I had been so busy with book revisions, I hadn’t replaced the lost key yet. Instead, I treated the spare like an heirloom and trained myself to religiously zip close my bag.
But one afternoon, while my nose was buried in my iPad, my phone started buzzing.
It was a 212 area code. Who the hell from New York was calling me? I let it go to voicemail. Then it rang again. And again.
On the fourth ring, I was ready to give that telemarketer a piece of my mind. "HELLO?"
"Is this Susan? This is Roy from Amtrak. I found your car key."
"You have to be f#%ing kidding me!"
"No need to swear, ma'am," Roy replied with a chuckle.
"Oh! Sorry Roy!" I laughed. "I just can't believe it. After all this time?"
"Those things are expensive. I wanted to get it back to you."
I know most mistakes don’t work out this way. That some losses don’t come with miraculous endings.
But how many small graces do we miss because we're too busy calling ourselves idiots to notice the tall man with the black backpack.
Too cranky to pause and see the beauty in our daughter consoling us.
Too sure life is out to get us to pick up the phone?
To seeing beyond the screw-up,
I love lost and found stories, well I realize it is about other things as well!! Glad Roy reached you! What is the word, serendipity? A kind of catch as catch can happenstance occurrence of things! Wait, I think I thinking of a different word, oh well! Enjoy the trains!