What would you pack for the last trip of your life?
It’s an extraordinary question, and it’s one I asked myself while inside my fancy house, staring into opened closets and drawers of fancy clothes.
The suitcase lay on my bed, open and empty.
What if I go somewhere cold, somewhere hot, somewhere wet? What if I go somewhere dangerous? I’d need the right attire to do it right. Right?
Before I knew it, the glutinous bag had been fed all it desired. Clothes for every occasion were crammed in, with shoes, purses and accessories to match each outfit. My bizarre sense of wonderment had been stuffed inside and briefly discarded. A hairdryer, a curling iron, a makeup case, all of which were jammed in with their wires coiling out like snakes. I tried to zip the suitcase shut, but could only make it a quarter of the way around the first bend. I sat on it and forced it shut, then grabbed the handle and picked it up; the weight of it hung like an anvil from my puny arms.
“What am I doing?” I asked myself, looking in the mirror to my side. I saw a woman who didn’t know the answer. I had fallen back into my old habits; the light of the new me, shadowed by my former self. It was a chilling moment to say the least, the kind when clarity meets divinity with a firm handshake. My reflection—struggling with the weight of my luggage—became a euphemism: I’d been carrying this burden my whole life. Clutter and useless shit had filled its innards—meaningless possessions I’ve accumulated with the hopes they’d bring me happiness.
I’m feeling down, but this new handbag which costs two grand will lift me up again! Praise Jesus!
Have they done anything to save my life? Have they in anyway made me happier?
I dropped the suitcase, put my hands on my hips and thought. In the peripheral scan of my bedroom, I saw it in the closet, inching out from under a pile of older, forsaken clothes. Faded tops, passé skirts, and archaic heels served their need a long time ago, and then found themselves casted off to the burgeoning heap. But it was its strap I saw, peaking out from underneath.
It was my father who gave it to me on my twenty-first birthday. It was he who hoped I’d use it in a way he never had.
“This is for you, Livvy,” I remembered him saying. “I’m hoping after you graduate you put it to use, travel the world, and fill it with memories. I never had the chance to, but I’ll live through you if I can.” It was during the first stages of his diagnosis, when hope was still a reasonable noun.
I walked inside the closet, bent down and pulled it out.
The backpack was wrinkled and withered from its life of banishment. When I pulled it out and saw his name stenciled on the front, a herald wonderment seized me, and everything else fell into place.
“Oliver,” I read his name out loud. The faded black stenciling etched across the more faded green bag. It looked like a solider’s knapsack who didn’t know what he was doing; probably packed with no reserve ammo, and no change of socks.
I knew then how I’d proceed.
I’d fill that bag with and only with the bare necessities. I unzipped the suitcase and flipped it upside down. A mountain of clothes and byproducts avalanched out, careening off the bed and onto the floor.
I rummaged through them and chose three shirts, one short, one long and one sweater. One pair of jeans, five pairs of socks, some quality undies, and the proper footwear, meaning high heels had no place here.
The closet called for me one last time. I heard the faint whisper from an old jacket hanging at end of the rack. I had bought it back in college with thoughts of exploration, though the desires for that got buried under work and goals. Goals, when I thought about it, are a funny thing. Once you achieve one, there’s always another to strive for, and in doing so you’re always living with your thoughts for an attainable future. Don’t get me wrong, goals are a fine thing, but it’s important to live through the process.
Like that jacket for example, its vintage leather and sherpa collar belonged to a woman who traveled, or at least in my mind it had. For twelve years it hung there, hibernating, waiting for its purpose.
I spun the jacket around my shoulders and slid my arms through the welcoming sleeves. This time when I looked in the mirror I saw the woman I always wanted to be: the traveler, the adventurer, hellbent on living and leaving the rest behind. When I saw her I smiled, like smiling at an old friend, one whom I’d only dreamt of and never actually seen. Though she’d been right in front of me the whole time.
“Hi,” I said, “it’s nice to finally meet you.”