Sunglasses

Somewhere in this world, there is a drawer and in this drawer, there are probably at least 15 pairs of sunglasses that I have lost over the years. Cheap glasses and slightly-more-than-cheap sunglasses. I know not to invest in an expensive pair anymore because I usually have them a year or so. Normally it doesn't bother me, but I really kind of liked the pair I lost a couple weeks ago so I've had to reflect more on the spiritual practice of indifference. I've been reading about Ignatius of Loyola, an early 16th-century priest and theologian who is the spiritual father of the Jesuits. Indifference, for Ignatius, doesn't mean you have no feelings for anything, but instead means "the freedom to approach each decision afresh. The ability to be detached from one's initial biases and to step back, the willingness to carefully balance the alternatives. An openness to the working of God in one's life." (from "The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything," a book I've been quoting liberally from lately). That's obviously easier said than done. It's difficult to go into a decision or situation and check our biases at the door. I can say to myself, if I find my sunglasses, wonderful and if I don't, that's still OK. But the small and inconsequential pang of that loss still lingers even when it's something as superficial as sunglasses. There are times when things will go well in my life and times when they won't. But because my meaning in life doesn't stem from sunglasses or anything else but rather because I'm deeply loved by God, it's a bit easier to let things go. But I'll still won't mind if those sunglasses show up.