If your backpack sets off the seatbelt alarm, you’ve got too much baggage. 

As I do every morning, I got in my Jeep yesterday, buckled up, and drove off. I was maybe a block from the house when the seatbelt alarm went off. I jammed the tab in with no effect. I unbuckled and re-buckled. Nothing. And then I looked in the passenger seat where my backpack was sitting. A brick of irony hit me on the forehead. The very backpack I bought to reduce the stress on my spine had become so heavy that it set off the seatbelt alarm. I am apparently carrying around the equivalent of another human every day. When I got home last night to sort through the contents, I realized that I really am carrying around another human every day. This human needs to let go of the baggage of that human. Some patterns emerged as I analyzed the accoutrements weighing me down.  

I’m going to need it. Probably everything in my backpack points to this future fear. The thing that struck me, though, is that I have two travel sized cans of hairspray. One is formulated for volume and one for hold. Both are still completely full even though I bought them in November. I know when I put them in my bag. I was leaving for a trip. I bought one the week before when I was packing. I bought the second one in the airport, having forgotten the first, when I realized that I would be outside in the heat where my short hair would flatten. I am going to need it and I won’t have it.  Well, I have it. I have yet to use it.  I have been carrying them around for five months because I just knew I was going to need them. I didn’t. So, I am carrying a half pound of future tripping.  

I’m going to want it. Writers will give me grace on this admission, still it bears confessing. There are three hard-covered journals in my backpack. THREE! One of them is for planning and contains a calendar and lists. I am keeping that one. One is for plotting. I need that, right? What if I have a brilliant idea for a bestseller and all I can find is an old restaurant receipt on which to capture the essence of the novel? I definitely need that one. The last one is blank. Beautiful and beckoning. Beautiful and blank. I am not sure why or when I threw that one in there. Then there are the pens. A set of colored pens and a set of black pens. In my defense, what would I do with a journal if I did not have a writing implement. The key qualifier is “a.” I need a writing implement. I do not need two complete sets. I certainly do not need a set in the same color in different point sizes. So, I am carrying roughly two pounds of anticipated desire.  

I might miss out on an opportunity. I have an iPhone, iPad, iPhone charger, an iPad charger, an extra cord, a battery block, and a laptop. I would like to say that I wouldn’t need all that if Apple would stick to one type of cord. I would like to say that, but it wouldn’t be completely honest. This one is more embarrassing than the hairspray. Apparently, I have a subconscious fear that I will not be connected or able to connect. I clearly need to explore this in more depth. I have already removed half of these. Full disclosure, I am not giving up the laptop or phone. So, I was carrying around twenty pounds of fear of disconnection.  

I might be uncomfortable. I have a bottle of Ibuprofen and Tylenol in my bag. I’m keeping them. I did reflect on the need for comfort. Even if I only use them every once in a while, I keep them with me. It is interesting that this is a small amount of discomfort avoidance in comparison to the others so far. I am torn between too much and too little on this one. On the one hand, less would mean being at ease with discomfort. That would be a good thing. More might mean recognizing that my comfort is important. Either way, I am carrying about one third pound of discomfort avoidance. 

I might be unprepared. I found cold medicine, throat lozenges, and travel sized tissue packs in one of the pockets. It is cold season. Still, this seems a bit over the top. I do like to be prepared. Do I have to be ready for everything? Not really. Other than blood, flood, and fire, most things are not an emergency. I can throw caution to the wind on a few more things in my life, starting with carrying cold medicine when I don’t even have a cold. That’s a half pound of fear of being unprepared.  

I might not have enough energy. I have a massive power cord for my laptop in my backpack. It does come in handy when the laptop battery dies. However, I don’t use the laptop enough to deplete the battery in a normal day.  At first, I thought this might go in the fear of being unprepared category or the missing out on an opportunity category. I think it has to do more with energy and pushing myself even when my battery is low. Rather than rest, do I grab some coffee and get back to work? Am I too plugged in? That’s three pounds of need to recharge.  

I might regret this. Even though I have Bluetooth earbuds, I keep two types of corded ear plugs in my bag. I started doing this after a particularly irritating flight across the country on which my earbuds refused to connect and the corded set I packed had the wrong connector. I was quite upset with myself because I had both pairs in my hand when I was packing and discarded the wrong one. I kicked myself mentally from Seattle to Atlanta. I threw them both in after that trip just in case. I knew I would regret it if I left one behind. How much can you carry out of fear you might regret leaving it behind? In this case, it was only a few ounces. A few ounces of fear of regret, day after day, adds up.  

I might leave it behind. I use exactly one key every day. Once a week, I need my gas cap key. I need two keys at the most. Guess how many I carry. Twelve. What if I need to check the mail? Lock the bike rack? Secure the load on my roll bar on that one cross state trip I take with the top down every year? If I get where I am going but I forgot the key, what will I do? I will just pull out the pound of keys I am carrying around and try every last one in the lock until I find the one that fits. So, one pound of fear of leaving something behind. 

I might not appear put together. In different pockets scattered throughout my backpack, I found five tubes of lipstick in five assorted colors, one hair pick, a powder compact, and a mirror. With the exception of the lipstick (an obsession that requires its own blog), I don’t even remember when I put those in my pack. I do think they point to a fear of appearing disheveled or unprofessional. The fact that I haven’t used them would suggest this is an irrational fear. Again though, this is about the baggage. It doesn’t matter if I use them. What matters is that I don’t use them, yet I am still carrying them around with me wherever I go. So, another pound and a half of fear. 

All told, that’s twenty-nine pounds of fear, regret, need, and desire. So, I am not carrying around a grown adult human. I am carrying around a two-year-old, though. That’s a lot of baggage. Most of it comes from a positive intention—being prepared, comfortable, and energetic are all great goals. However, if they come from a place of fear, judgment, or avoidance, they weigh me down making it impossible to experience those positive outcomes. So, I am cleaning out the backpack—mostly. I am lightening up my load so that I can carry what I really need. I am making space for the things I really want in my life. I am clearing out the debris that distracts me from the present. 

What do you have in your backpack? 

Copyright Catherine Matthews 2024