Where’d I Put My Glass?

Forget the endless debate about whether the glass is half-full or half-empty. That’s not my problem.

My problem is: Where the dickens is my glass?

See, I’m not the sort who goes around philosophizing over water levels. I’m more the type who sets a glass down and then spends the next half-hour retracing steps like Sherlock Holmes, only without the pipe, the hat, or the confidence. By the time I find it, I’ve usually poured myself another one, which explains why we own more glasses than any two sane people should.

It’s not that I’m forgetful. Well, maybe it is.

But I like to think of it as “living in the moment.” Unfortunately, my moments don’t always talk to each other. So one moment I’m sipping iced tea in the living room, and the next I’m hammering something in the garage, wondering why my throat’s dry and why I feel like I misplaced a small part of my life.

It is where the glass comes in. It’s always somewhere.

Sometimes in plain sight, hiding behind a newspaper, or sitting next to the remote, I also couldn’t find five minutes ago. The real trick isn’t whether it’s half-full or half-empty; it’s whether I can locate it before the dog knocks it over.

And speaking of the dog, I swear he knows. Buddy’ll sit there wagging his tail, watching me circle the house like a man on a mission. If he could talk, he’d probably say, “It’s on the porch, genius. Right where you left it when you thought you heard the mailman.”

But he grins that canine grin, because he knows I’ll figure it out eventually.

Now, life is less about how you see the glass and more about remembering you’ve got one in the first place. It’s easy to get wrapped up in big-picture questions, hope versus despair, optimism versus pessimism, but most of us are really just trying to keep track of our own simple stuff without losing it in the shuffle.

And isn’t that the way it usually goes? We’re busy worrying about things that might never happen, as the glass, our small, practical needs, sits ignored on the porch rail, or worse, the dog’s already had his nose in it, which is another reason I keep pouring new ones.

I’ve learned to laugh about it, because what’s the alternative? If I get mad every time I lose track of a glass, I’d never have time for anything else.

Besides, losing track of things is proof I’m at least doing something. You can’t misplace a glass if you’re sitting still all day, as movement means life, and life is messy.

So, the real question isn’t about half-full or half-empty at all. It’s about: Are you still looking for your glass?

Are you still curious enough, active enough, hopeful enough to go searching for what you’ve misplaced? Because if you are, you’re doing just fine.

Sure, I’d love to be the kind of guy who sets his glass down neatly on a coaster and remembers it every time, but that’s not me. I’m the guy who finds yesterday’s beer by the lawnmower, shrugs, and says, “Well, at least I found it.”

So the next time someone asks whether you see the glass as half-full or half-empty, feel free to smile and say, “Neither. I see it as missing in action, but I’ll find it. I always do.”

And let’s be honest, no one ever won the meaning-of-life debate with a parched throat.