Lost Snacks

It was a piece of popcorn.
Warm. Buttery. Slightly caramel-coated.
I had it. I really had it.

Until I didn’t.

One excited paw swipe, and it was gone—plunk—into the mysterious, unreachable space beneath the couch. That ancient void where socks, pens, and mysteries go to rest.

I tried. Believe me, I tried. I laid flat. I extended a stick. I even sent Mini Blue under on a recon mission (they returned fuzzy and emotionally rattled). But the popcorn was gone.

And so I flopped. Face-down. Nose smooshed into the carpet. Thinking:

“Do I chase every lost snack?”
“How many crumbs am I carrying in my soul?”
“Is this the end of the world... or just the end of this popcorn?”

And somewhere between the sigh and the settling, I realized—

Letting go is hard. But holding on too tightly? That’s harder.

Sometimes the snack under the couch is just… gone.
Sometimes the nap you missed, or the friend you didn’t see, or the plan that changed—those are gone too.

But that doesn’t mean you can’t be full.

🌿 Plushie Lessons in Impermanence:

• Not everything can (or should) be retrieved.

• You are still whole, even without that exact cookie.

• There’s always more joy. More snacks. More softness ahead.
  
  

Pandy says impermanence is part of life.
Mini Blue says nothing, but brought me a grape.

And me? I decided to make peace with the popcorn.
(I also tucked a new one in my hoodie pocket—just in case.)

💭 Final Thought:

Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do…
is not reach for the unreachable.

Just sit.
Breathe.
And let it be.

There’s softness in surrender.
And usually another snack nearby. 🐾