I discovered my keys on my desk earlier this evening; I had believed them lost on a cross-city bike ride several weeks ago, and in fact had spent that evening slowly retracing the route in order to spot them on the ground. Apparently I only spared a desultory glance for my desk, since they shook out of a relatively unobscure corner (under my copy of Bulfinch’s Mythology). In the meanwhile, though, I had of course replaced everything on a new keyring; now I have two completely redundant sets of keys.
I feel certain that the incident demands being condensed into some kind of aphorism, but I’m unable to really make it manifest. Something about loss, certainty, and action. The proper steps after a moment of loss are to act to overcome the deficiency. Even if it later turns out that the loss was temporary, or in this case illusory, decisively overcoming it is better than clinging to a protracted hope.