T. has been teased and hassled about her purses. For one thing, they tend to be — massive. More like luggage, really, filled with bits of this and that — books, snacks, colored pencils, bobby pens, and a buried wad of keys — identified by a large silver bell.
The contents of T’s purses grew over time. At one point, they must have contained just the usual contents of a girl’s bag – wallet, license, phone, but over time, there came…
– the inevitable note boooks for stray thoughts and church communication,
the half-read paperback,
the hard candies for her diabetic friend in high school,
the packs of gum to entertain younger sibs in church.
The glucose pills for the hypoglycemic boyfriend,
the beesting kit, the First Aid kit,
the nail clipper, the earplugs for the sound sensitive spouse,
the painkillers,
the spare pair of glasses,
the lip glosses, hair scrunchies, and the nail polish,
the handkerchief,
the Kleenex for Mom’s inevitable church weepies,
and on and on and on…
People laughed. And then asked her for an Advil or a nail file. And she had what was needed, every time.
Partly the purse packing came from a sense that people needed someone to have someone to take care of things, to remember a book of matches for an impromptu birthday celebration, or a pair of tweezers to remove a splinter. Rubber gloves and First Aid kits she carried in case someone was cut and bleeding — and most of the time, the things came in handy, and gave her a sense of …purpose.
But the purse packing also came from a sense of, well, paranoia, really. The world was sometimes just a — blur. People were running around and driving around at a horribly fast clip, and sometimes T. felt like she needed a few extra things to, maybe, ground her. So she carried a piece of home with her, wherever she went. A bit of the cabinet over the bathroom sink. A bit of her library. A bit of security. There was nowhere home wasn’t, and she was always, always, always prepared. She would never be bored, never be bleeding, never uncoiffed, never blind, never stuck wanting for anything. The Ultimate Girl Scout.
Except, most of us know that the world just doesn’t work that way. Sometimes, things happen, and nothing in one’s purse will make a bit of difference at all. Planes will crash, buildings will fall, people will die, and nothing, nothing, nothing will change that. That’s the world.
And, once she crossed the world and came to Glasgow, T. realized a few other things. One, that large bags and shopping on foot — didn’t match. Two, that she was surrounded by strangers, and strangers weren’t the least bit interested in her spare tweezers. (Well, they might have been, but then that would make them doubly — strange.) Deciding she didn’t really need all she carried, she dropped down a bag size.
She carried: a notebook – because there was too much information coming in, and she was afraid there would be some things — several thousand somethings — she would forget. She carried a stack of postcards, pre-stamped, in case she was somewhere she could write. She carried only one book, and tried to be sure it was small. She carried her wallet. She carried her passport, and D.’s too. She carried a change purse for the inevitable heavy coins of the realm. She stuffed what room was left with hard candies and gum and hair scrunchies and her spare glasses case.
It was still too heavy.
And T. realized most of what she carried was based on… fear. This bothered her. She knew very well it did no good to plan against the inevitable day after day after day. The inevitable…happens. Why was she carrying her passport everywhere every day when she could lose it? Did she really need to pack food as if her next meal wasn’t certain, and books as if she wasn’t someplace new and could open her eyes and observe the world around her? Did she really have to carry her whole life with her, on her back? Dropping another bag size wasn’t the answer. Dropping some habits seemed a better plan.
The contents of her purse T. dumped out, sorted, and put away. A little string wallet from Bangladesh seems just small enough. She goes out with keys, phone, a change purse, sometimes lip gloss or sunglasses. It feels… like not enough. The string purse goes over her shoulder, and she’s not weighed down with the world. It feels distinctly unsettling. Walking across the street, she realizes that if disaster were to strike — a reckless bus, an explosion — nothing she could carry would be enough to make a difference. There is no way she can control everything around her, and carrying enough stuff to feed, bandage and entertain the world isn’t realistic. So. She goes with what she has…
…out the front door, in faith that she will come in again.
– D & T
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You know that “purse thing” may have been inherited dear sister…I have WAY too many things that I carry in a too large bag myself only to have to cart it back home after using nothing in it (and sometimes along with a backpack with books as a back up!)having read or used none of the items I toted around. You are right about it representing some sort of security. I really like the observations made of carrying a bunch of crap around you don’t need all the time and can let go off. True it is scary, but very freeing both physically and emotionally. Congrats on scaling down bag sizes!
oh, this warms my heart. I passed up the most DARLING polka-dot purses tonight–good thing I don’t have money or else you’d be getting a nifty (tiny) polka dotted bag from NYC!
Two comments: 1) Great post, and 2) What is Tanita doing with my purse, and what happened to my dictionary?
Every so often, I go manic and clean my purse out. There will always be a melted pad of butter and a spilled sugar sachet (I have tried to wean myself of this disgusting habit, but I cannot), a bunch of Kleenex, scissors, books, Japanese-English dictionary, hard candies fused together, mirror, comb, lice comb (because you never know), band-aids, hair thingies, hand lotion, Unmentionable Items of Feminine Hygiene — and so on. If you ever have kids, Tanita, you are in for a real treat: add to all that toys, items of clothing, rocks, sea shells, kid books, medicines, breast pads, diapers, diaper liners, and emergency snacks. (Is it any wonder that I got bursitis in my shoulder?) So I clean it all out, wipe the inside of my bag with a rag, hang it out on the clothesline and smugly tell myself it will stay like that.
And one week later it’s right back to square one.
I never had my purse grow to such a large size. My largest was probably about the size of your mid sized purse. And years ago I found a little bag like your thai one and fell in love. Just big enough for wallet, keys, puffer, epipen, and pen. I always have receipts in my wallet should note taking be absolutely necessary.
This makes me laugh.
When I travel, I take my backpack EVERYWHERE. Thus, I always have tissue, handsanitizer, a flashlight, an umbrella (in Scotland, but not in Utah), pencils, a green pen, wallet, etc.
Every day I carry a bag to the school where I teach. It contains screwdrivers, my teaching contract, extra mascara, a calculator, etc.
My actual purse is fairly small, but I only take that on short jaunts.
Yes, I carry the equivalent of a Swiss Army Backpack — because, hey, you never know when you’re going to need some of that stuff. I think my syndrome comes from growing up as a Mormon in Utah, where it’s constantly drilled into you that at any moment there could be an earthquake or you’ll be called to walk back across the plains to Jackson County. Having the 72-hour emergency prepardness kit is taught at school, in church, by the local government, etc. Perhaps it’s surprising that my travel backpack doesn’t actually contain waterproof matches and one of those metallic space blankets. Hmmmm… maybe I should add those…
Full disclosure, Paperback Writer: I have a space blanket. Okay, several. We carried two in each car back home with the First Aid kids, and now they’re going to be tucked in backpacks and bike packs.
Look at it this way, no time of trouble will catch us unawares, will it!?
Ah, ha! Someone admits to it!
I feel so vindicated.
😉