My mother is always the best and the worst at helping me find my lost items. Losing items may not sound like a hassle to most, but for me, it seemed to be a daily occurrence. Sunglasses? Never heard of them. If I were to buy a nice pair of sunglasses, I would basically be donating to whoever finds them. My mother is the best at helping me find things because she would somehow know my flawed placements, even if I didn't remember them. “The couch cushion?” she would ask. I would respond abruptly with, “I already checked there.” She would tell me to check again, and sure enough, my lost item would be sitting there. It was always where she would tell me to double-check. That is why she was the worst at helping me find my misplacements. Not because I wouldn't find them, but because I would feel moronic after she helped me. 

I look at the flat black card as I jam it into my wallet. While the item itself is somewhat plain and pleasing to the eye, the background to it is not. It's “Scan if found” QR stares into my pupils, burning my cornea to nothing but a crisp. I feel embarrassed, almost helpless, knowing I need a tracker to keep track of my items. As I slide the Tile tracker into my wallet I pause for a moment. I look at my wallet, a light brown object as smooth as butter. The leather of my wallet was made by the same company and the same type of leather as my baseball glove. I break through the daydream of my wallet to reach for my keys on the table. As my hand slides across the glowing top on the coated Barnwood table I grasp my hand, but there is no set of keys sitting there. I snap my neck to the left, to see if I left them on the other end of the table. No luck there. My heart starts to race as I realize that I had lost my keys while trying to prevent my wallet from being lost. My Tile tracker says that I left them at the ball field, so I grab my spare set of keys and head over there. 

I swung my car door open only to be delighted by the fresh spring air that filled my nostrils and nourished my body in a way that only spring air could. As I closed the car door, I am able to catch a glimpse of the powdery red dirt that lies on the field. I grab my baseball bag and start over to the field. As I approach, it seems as if the weather is nonexistent; that's how you know it is perfect baseball weather. The lines in the grass look as if they belong in a museum, perfectly straight and fresh, only to be torn up in competition between two teams. The thing that catches my eye most, however, is the pitcher's mound. The mound was laid out just right, not too much slope, but not more than enough. The dirt on the mound was much stiffer, making it easier to plant. The diamond felt more like a home to me than just a place to compete and practice. As I set my bag into my dugout, go go to grab my glove. Where was my glove? It’s not in my bag? Oh no. I left my glove at home! If I would have had a tracker on it this would have never happened. 

Remembering things has never been my best virtue, but the tracker does help me. I discovered that I had to adapt to my flawed memory, and the tracker helps me to remember things. It reminds me that it is okay to need help from something and that utilizing the resources and technology around me to better myself isn't a bad thing.