The Antlion of Forgotten Things - Is This A Nightmare?

What on earth! Yesterday, my laptop disappeared again! Unbelievably, I forgot it once on the airplane from Haneda to Tokushima. I always carry two laptops in anticipation of such situations, so my work isn’t affected, but even so, I can’t help but feel disheartened. This morning, I called JAL at Tokushima Airport and said to the familiar voice on the line, “I’m sorry, I forgot it again!” They seemed to already know and prepared it for me. When I checked in for my flight back to Tokyo today, the forgotten laptop was handed back to me. Does being a regular customer of JAL also mean being a regular at forgetting things?

As for the laptop, it’s clear that the reason it became lost was due to my violating the rules. I have forgotten things many times before on trains, airplanes, taxis, and so on, so I have a general idea of the root cause. One is momentary memory loss due to aging. Seriously, there are times when I forget what I’m doing just a minute ago. Things like, “Wait, what did I just eat for lunch?” happens to me all the time. The other cause is that I’m constantly thinking while writing, which makes me lose the memories from before and after. As a result, it may be unavoidable that things seem to vanish as if they had teleported during those moments around my writing.

Looking back at the things I’ve forgotten, there is a common pattern. I seem to just place all of my items around me. Whether it’s by a train window, on a restroom counter, in an airplane pocket, on a chair, on a desk, or on a taxi seat, the reason I forget things is that I temporarily put them nearby and then make my next move. Therefore, to avoid forgetting things, I would have to make an effort not to put items down—but that’s not realistic. There are times when I have no choice but to place things around me.

So, what was the rule I broke this time? I had decided that if I put something down, it must be either right in front of me or somewhere in contact with my body, yet I failed to follow that rule. By chance, my airplane seat was 15C, a seat with a wall directly in front, leaving quite a bit of space ahead. Since another passenger was seated next to me, I had no choice but to put my second laptop in the pocket attached to the wall in front. That distance was the problem—it ended up more than a meter away from my view. During the flight, I was completely absorbed in my work on my other laptop. On top of that, although the plane landed from Haneda to Tokushima, it was 30 minutes late. Worried I wouldn’t make my appointment on time, I immediately contacted them via LINE after landing, then rushed off the plane and ran to the taxi stand. From around Tokushima Station, I switched to my own car and headed to Komatsushima. It was only then, along the way, that I suddenly realized my laptop was missing.

If the laptop had been a little closer to me, this might have been a case that could have been avoided. However, when I’m pressed for time and focused on writing, it’s inevitable that I forget things placed slightly out of reach. That’s precisely why I decided to strictly follow the rule of keeping items close to me—but then I encountered an incident that completely ignored this rule.

Just last week, during a long five-hour journey back to Tokyo from Onagawa in Miyagi Prefecture, I ended up taking the last shinkansen from Sendai. The final Yamabiko service departs Sendai at 9:49 p.m., with Tokyo as its last stop. Since my destination was Mejiro on the Yamanote Line, I planned to get off at Ueno. Once on the shinkansen, as usual, I opened my PC and immersed myself in writing. I often use my smartphone alongside my PC work, as it’s essential for passwords and communication tasks. Having even forgotten my phone before, I worked for a little over an hour with it firmly held between my legs to make sure I wouldn’t forget it. When I arrived at Ueno Station, I kept writing until the very last moment before the doors opened. As soon as the train stopped, I stood up, put my PC and power cable into my backpack, put on my jacket, stepped out onto the platform, and headed up the long escalator toward the Yamanote Line platform.

Then, after boarding the Yamanote Line from JR Ueno Station and reaching for my phone, I realized it was gone. To my shock, I had left the phone that I had placed between my legs and stood up without taking it. Fortunately, I always carry a second phone, so I checked using the iPhone’s “Find My” feature and confirmed that it had moved on to Tokyo Station. Panicking, I got off the Yamanote Line at the next stop and headed back in the opposite direction toward Tokyo Station. It was already past 11:30 p.m. By the time I arrived at Tokyo Station, there were only 15 minutes left until the last Yamanote Line train. Would I be able to retrieve the forgotten phone? There was no time to think. Believing I could somehow manage, I rushed down to the platform at Tokyo Station and immediately ran toward the Tohoku Shinkansen tracks.

When I got to the ticket gate, the last train had already arrived, and the station staff were in cleanup mode. When I said, “I came to retrieve a lost item—it’s in car No. 9 of that shinkansen stopped there…,” I was coldly told that lost item services end at 10 p.m., the train would soon be moved to the depot, and after cleaning, any lost items would be turned in—so I should come back tomorrow to the dedicated lost-and-found counter. In other words, after going home, I would have to come all the way back to Tokyo Station the next day. What a waste of time. Forgetting something means having my valuable time steadily chipped away. The next day, I went again to the lost-and-found counter outside Tokyo Station, and my phone was safely returned.

From this incident, I began to realize that the rule I had imposed on myself was no longer effective. In other words, even if I place something in contact with my body, I can still forget it. I can hardly hide my shock at having this precedent. The reason is that I can no longer think of any rule beyond this. It means that there are almost no ways left to avoid forgetting things. Perhaps the only option is to attach strings to everything I might forget and tie them to my belt. But then what if I forget to carry the strings? Should I set it so an alarm sounds when something leaves my side? Should I attach tags so I can track them? But that wouldn’t fundamentally solve my forgetfulness.

Aren’t there any good methods? But if I spend time thinking about such things, it interferes with my work. Writing this article itself was, in the end, a waste of time. Therefore, I have no choice but to prioritize my work. And so, the forgetfulness will continue. It’s like a landslide that grows deeper over time. Just like an antlion, I seem to sink further and further into it. And once caught, it is extremely difficult to crawl back out. Understanding this principle and avoiding the antlion is the key to winning the challenges of life. This hurdle is extremely high.