As recently as my trip to Greece, I was reminded that I carry too much baggage with me.
As we departed Greece and sat in the airport in Munich, I was the one who was lugging a thirty-pound backpack carry-on. The other few members of the group also with me in Germany were smarter travelers. They had small totes and daypack excursion backpacks that I would guess only weighed a maximum of ten or fifteen pounds. Why couldn’t I be that carefree?
At the end of the evening’s dancing the waiter at the restaurant Archodissa in the island of Thasos picked up my backpack and handed it to me. You absolutely must visit if you get to travel to the Greek islands of the Aegean Sea! He asked me, with the usual Greek charm, “Is this full of rocks?” No, I wasn’t packing my bag full of rocks and pebbles from the marble quarry. It was mostly full of things that I brought from home. First, I packed my antiquated laptop that ended up only lasting two hours without battery power, so I was tethered to a power outlet most of the trip if I was ready to type up new works or edit poems. After the laptop, I carried a notebook for scribbling on the go, two books I was reading for class, and a water bottle. The rest was filled with who knows what. It doesn’t sound heavy, but trust me, I felt like I was carrying a military issued backpack. At the airport it hindered me the most. I felt my back straining.
Fast forward to moving day into a new apartment the final week of October. I packed all my books, keepsakes, and papers in boxes. Putting solely my clothes in the master bedroom allowed me to realize that I have too much stuff. Yet, the moving process was swift, and I only did a quick sort as I packed. My boyfriend and I got rid of three large bags of clothes before the move. Then, as moving day arrived suddenly, he simply packed all the remaining shoes and clothes into plastic totes and I packed my shoes and clothes into suitcases.
Once arriving at our new place, the first place that is ours together, we both realized we each had a lot of baggage. The pile of suitcases taunted me for weeks. I realized that I was getting along fine without even opening most of the suitcases. I was not ready to handle my baggage. To do so I would have to put some summer clothes into the back of the master bedroom closet that has a large storage area of three-foot tall steps.
Cue the closet’s florescent light to flicker and finally burn out. A dark closet was a good excuse not to handle my baggage. Tuesday my apartment’s maintenance man came over and replaced the light. Excuses gone, I have to make progress. It still is a process, because who wants to try on tank tops in the winter? However, I am aware that the accumulation of clothes that I don’t wear taking up space doesn’t contribute to the flow of creativity.
Yesterday, my boyfriend hung the mirror above my dresser. Baby steps.
My baggage won’t define me. The action I take in this moment defines me.
writerundle 