What's in My Bag? Apparently, My Entire Life

A commitment to show up and write my truth | Day 284 of 365

Years ago, a friend asked what I was carrying in my purse.

Fair question. The purse was enormous.

I had just closed the biggest deal of my life up to that point, and I wanted to mark it with something I'd wanted for a long time. Nobody handed it to me. I'd earned it, so I picked it out myself: a beautiful purse, the kind that makes you stand a little taller.

Then I filled it. The bigger the bag, I've found, the more I decide needs to come along.

What's in My Bag? Let's Put It All on the Table

We were in the middle of a restaurant when she asked, so I said, "Well, do you want to see?"

Out came the gum and the mints, a handful of cards, some cash, and a tangle of hair clips. Then the lip products: a balm, a lipstick, one gloss that shimmered and one that didn't. Apparently my lips needed options for every kind of lighting.

Then we got to the snacks, and at the very bottom sat a banana.

It would have been funny enough on its own. But we were about to share fondue for dessert, and we'd just asked for more fruit and been told there wasn't any. Meanwhile, I was sitting on the only fruit in the building. I must have dropped it in that morning and forgotten about it. It was perfectly good, so we sliced it up and dipped it, and I have never felt so well prepared in my life, which is a strange thing to say about something I did entirely by accident.

I'm not saying every handbag needs a banana. I'm saying mine earned its keep that night.

These Days, I Carry Bags Inside Other Bags

Now it's a Trader Joe's tote with a nicer, cuter tote inside it, and a small purse inside that. If you ask me what's in my bag these days, we have to settle first which bag you mean.

Between them you'll find baby wipes, contact solution, deodorant, tissues, toddler socks, two umbrellas, sparkling water, and a good many things I couldn't name without digging.

There are also sunglasses. Two pairs of mine, because one is cute but won't stay on my face and the other is less cute but stays where I put it. I still haven't decided whether I'd rather look good or stop adjusting them every six seconds, so both come along. My daughter has three pairs of her own, one pink and one white with flower-shaped frames. That's five pairs of sunglasses between two people, and one of them is a toddler.

Add a toy school bus and two dinosaur cars, and whatever happens on an outing, transportation is covered.

Motherhood Changed the Inventory, Not the Reason

Years ago I packed for a good evening. Now I pack for a small person with strong opinions. Wipes, because something will need wiping. Socks, because somebody's will get wet. A dinosaur car, because a ten-minute wait goes a lot better with one in hand.

I used to think of this as a flaw, the overpacking. These days I see it differently. Nothing in that bag is random. Each item is an answer to a question I've learned to ask before anyone else does, and I'd guess you know the feeling. You're probably the one at the table with the tissue, the bandage, the phone charger, the exact thing someone needs and nobody else thought to bring.

That isn't clutter. It's attention, and attention is a quiet form of love.

I'm also getting better at telling what has earned its place. Some of what I carry is there because it genuinely helps. Some is there out of habit, and I can feel the difference now. Carrying a lot and carrying everything aren't the same thing, and I get to decide which one I'm doing on any given day.

The Purse Hook Is Still Along for the Ride

I carry one of those little folding hooks that clips to the edge of a table, so your bag can hang beside you instead of sitting on a restaurant floor.

A lovely idea. For a different bag.

This one would not survive two totes, a purse, two umbrellas, sparkling water, five pairs of sunglasses, and a small fleet of toddler vehicles. So it rides along inside the very bag it can't hold, and mostly observes.

Maybe one day I'll walk out with one small purse, hang it neatly beside me, and feel like a woman who has her belongings under control. Until then, the hook comes along for the view.

A Beautiful Purse and a Trader Joe's Tote Both Have Their Moments

I'm glad I bought that purse. I had worked toward something, and I wanted to celebrate it with something I'd love. I don't need to turn that into a lesson about what I should have done with the money. I loved it, and I still love that my memory of it includes emptying its contents onto a restaurant table and finding a banana just when dessert needed one.

The bag was beautiful. The moment was ridiculous. I got to have both.

My bags tell a different story now, and it's funny to look inside and see how much my life has changed. I'm grateful for the work that bought that purse and for the friend who laughed with me over fondue and a banana. And I'm grateful for the little girl whose socks and dinosaur cars now ride along everywhere I go. She's the reason the bag is heavy, and the reason I don't mind.

Would I like a lighter bag some days? Sure.

Am I ready to empty it out? Let's not rush. A forgotten banana once saved dessert, and I've never stopped being proud of that.

About the Author | Day 284 of 365

I'm a soul-led coach, entrepreneur, mother, and recovering perfectionist, currently navigating healing, uncertainty, temporary chapters, motherhood, work, big transitions, grief, nervous system healing, overstimulation, emotional growth, and the ongoing lesson that life works a whole lot better when we stop trying to carry everything alone. Today that lesson showed up in a purse: the beautiful bag I bought to celebrate a big deal, the banana that rescued dessert, and a toddler's socks and dinosaur cars now riding along in my collection of totes.

Day 284 of 365. Still grateful, and still carrying a purse hook that can't hold any of this. 🐧