On Monday last week, when I was eagerly preparing to go downtown for a dress rehearsal performance of Madame Butterfly, I rifled through my purse to locate my Ventra card, my debit card for taking public transportation downtown.

Oh my God, it was nowhere to be found. I started to panic.

I called on my mind to think about the last time I used the card. Let’s see. I attended a meeting downtown about a week earlier.

I checked the many zippered compartments of my purse. I ran through the pockets of pants I might have worn that day. I checked every inch of my backpack, normally not a place I would store my Ventra card, but I remembered I used it to carry my laptop that day.

Nada.

I picked up every piece of mail on my kitchen counter and bar in case the gray card may have slipped between envelopes there. I stared at the top of my dresser every time I passed by to go to the bathroom. (I’ve often used it as a landing area when I empty the contents of my pockets.)

I looked through my purse several times. Eventually, I dumped all the contents out in case I missed the rectangular swatch of plastic during surface diving.

Still nothing

I don’t know what bothered me more: thinking that I am losing my mind and memory or thinking that I had to come up with a transportation solution FAST.

I couldn’t pay cash at the closest train stop. I had to use a card to get through the turnstile. Taking an Uber downtown would be expensive…

In a moment of inspiration, I called my downstairs neighbor, an interior designer who works from home when she’s not in Florida sizing up a hotel lobby.

Mini-tragedy averted. She was able to lend me her card. The soprano, M Butterfly, was excellent. I had leftover chicken when I got home, so I didn’t have make dinner. It was a good day.

I knew I could always cancel my Ventra account and get a new card. But, even though only a minor inconvenience, I didn’t want to do this. I knew the card had not been used (I would have gotten an email notice if my account needed to be replenished). I was convinced it was nearby.

Only not in plain sight.

Where should I look? Or, should I not look and only pray for it to turn up?

I know some women who have wanted to get pregnant and didn’t seem to be able to …until they stopped trying. Or, people that spent crazy amounts of time on dating sites only to end up meeting future partners by chance at a wedding or airport lounge.

There’s something almost magical about finding something when you’re in the right state of mind, when you’re not wracked by the energy of searching, of feeling something vital is missing; when you are not looking, but you are open to seeing.

I don’t drive my car every day. I may not turn over the engine, or, in winter, brush snow off my windshield, for several days in a row, but I had to go to the store on Thursday.

I didn’t immediately think of my car as a place to look for my Ventra card. There’s no reason I would have it loose with me when I was using another form of transportation…

…But, some voice inside me told me to keep my eyes open.

After I opened the back door on the passenger side, placing a few plastic tote bags for carrying groceries there, I swung out the front door on the passenger side where I had last left my combo car brush and ice scraper.

There, between the car seat and the door, I saw my Ventra card. It must have fallen out of my purse, which I will often rest on the unoccupied seat.

I just smiled. Such a little thing. Yet, in some way, by the discovery, I felt as if I was made whole.

Listening to your inner voice for clues on how you can SEE something that’s not in plain sight is no small thing.