The problem with losing something and then finding it again is that you're usually sort of forced to acknowledge that perhaps it wasn't all that important after all, let alone crucial, and I don't mean that in a philosophical unattachment-to-objects-is-a-good-thing way, I mean it's confusing and no fun. If you never find it, or find it after it's too late, then it remains in the category of perfection, the lost thing, the tragic misplacing, it's got a satisfying narrative attached to it, but so many times it does turn up and then there you are holding it, when the glow of finding it wears off after maybe 90 seconds you're left holding this dumb thing which it seemed so vital to find and it looks a little paltry after that, somehow diminished. I mean no kidding you still need it and it's useful but it looks a little paltry compared to the myth that grew up around it when you were frantically looking and turning your place upside down. And it makes you wonder just what you're supposed to value, thing-wise. This is a minor example of the problem with objects generally. I once went through a terrible period when everything looked dusty, like that greasy kind of dust? But that's another can of worms.