An umbrella and a scarf,

in case the weather changes.

A magazine and a book ,

about some far away places.

Packet food and snacks,

to eat once I arrive.

A wallet full of cash,

to help settle and survive.

New clothes and hair dye,

to aid my escape.

No tablet or phone,

I don’t want to be traced....

in this here bag...no not that one, that one has all of my D&D books in it.

This one rightchere! This has my laptop, power supply, wireless mouse, and usb headset with microphone. The laptop, mouse, and power cord are to do the work I'm paid to do, keyboard jockey. The headset is for conference calls and code deployments. So basically it's for herding cats.

Now on to survival items. I have a grocery bag at all times for an airtight Tupperware container of my course ground coffee. The coffee is for the next item, my Bodum Travel Press. I get more grief for it than my D&D books. The heathens!

All I need is 4 teaspoons and enough hot water to the fill line then I wait. Wait 4 minutes and I have the tastiest (and cheapest) cup of coffee instead of that office swill!

The next items are a ceramic soup mug and various packs of oatmeal and or soup And a package of spoons. These are for breakfast or lunch.

Everything I need to survive is in it. I go where the work takes me. By car, train or plane or simply by the dining room table.

Have laptop, will travel...

“What? No suitcases?” I ask my friends.

“Just bring your backpack, that’s all we need for this trip.”

“Easy as pie then!”

Heavy packing ends up with heavy lifting. Happily, I’ll be doing neither.

Goodness, this frees me up to chase other work. One backpack is all I need. Zip, zap, zoom! That’s the way I’ll race through it.

I’m going to encapsulate my life into one backpack. “Less luggage, more comfort,” “Less is more,” “Simple living, high thinking,” “Dump all baggage.” At this rate, my mind has more clutter than the backpack.

So, I breathe deep and meditate.

Then, I read a nice book. I suddenly become interested in tackling all the work I really don’t have to get to, because packing is just the backpack. I have saved some time to laze around. I think I can do all the things I need to finish before I get to this.

Ready to pack now. Child’s play with the one backpack approach!

I suddenly remember that I’ve not finished the laundry. So, I drop my clothes in. “I can’t do without this coat, and I need that pant,” I tell myself pressing the pause button on the washer to drop additional items.

I make myself a cup of tea and enjoy a sweet cookie while the washer does its job. In the meantime, I make a few calls to unfortunate friends and share information about the wonderful trip ahead. My favorite friend and I get chatty, and I forget all about my clothes in the laundry. She wants to know all about the trip, and I pry a confession out of her. She’s a tad jealous I’m going while she’s not. In spite of knowing this, my enthusiasm cannot be curbed.

Before long, it’s night, and I’m beginning to feel sleepy. Then, I remember that wet load needs to be transferred to the dryer. “I’ll wake up early in the morning to throw the stuff into the dryer.” Too much talking makes a gal tired. Am I glad not to be packing suitcases!

Early in the morning, the alarm rings, and I press the snooze button. I have a long journey, and I need my rest. I got time. After all, it’s just a backpack. The alarm and I get off to an ON and OFF battle.

After several tussles, I win, for the alarm stops ringing. Uh-oh! The spoils of the war sometimes are not all that necessary. I might have slept a bit longer than necessary.

With a sudden rush, I remember the clothes need to be dried. I run back to the washer, and without looking, I put my hand in. Stubbornly the clothes sit, all bunched up in water. That’s when I see the load button light flashing red showing an imbalanced situation. After redistributing the load several times, I redo the load, but the same situation arises. I do only the spin cycle, but when I come back, the clothes feel like one big hippopotamus stuck in water . And so, I squeeze everything by hand, it drips all over, but it will have to do. I put it all in the dryer. The load takes an inordinate time to dry, but finally, I have clean, slightly damp clothes.

Of course, the backpack does not fit all.

Now, I must sift and cull through what I need.

I try to downsize and minimize, but it looks like I cannot part with anything.

As I wrest with this challenge, I find myself stressing. Then I start to roll.

No,no...not that kind of roll, silly!

It’s the Kon-mari method. I just remembered a video I watched when I was bored. “Smoothen first! Then, make rectangles, and finally, roll.”

Essentials first, and then the others. Tight rolls, clothing nesting within one another, secure tucking, and jettisoning things that anchor me down, I pack my clothes. My combed cotton pajama suit sparks so much joy, Wisps of undergarments take less room, but I need my practical grandma undies. I throw out all my briefest thongs and whispers of lace, but why don’t I gain much room?

Speaking of footwear, I pack sturdy walking shoes, but a girl’s gotta have legit shoes. So, I pack three more, and take two out.

Too many things spark my joy, and I find it hard to let go.

Talking about sparks, what about chargers and stuff, what about my laptop and my very smart devices?

What about my food?

What about my wine?

Add, dump, add, dump, dump, dump, dump.

My comfort pillow? Dump!

My make up? Reduce

My toiletries? Bare minimum.

Who thought minimalism would mean maximum work?

Whew, the add and toss has gotten all my knickers in a bunched-up knot and a bee in my bonnet.

Voilà! I manage to complete the task. What??? It only took...I look at the clock ashamed to do the math of time subtraction.

“It was just a backpack,” I thought. But I think it made me miss the boat, and it allowed the train to depart. The plane has soared off, and the ship for me has definitely sailed. Friends have left for a spectacular break...without me.

Now, I am all packed up, but I have nowhere to go.

When I was young, it held a ton of books.

I went to school pre-Internet so let me repeat that - a ton of books.

They were huge and bulky, with hardcovers that cut into my lower shoulder blades and wore out the edges of my poor backpack every single year, ripping holes into them through which pencils and soda change fell into oblivion.

But I hauled them everywhere because there was no time to stop at lockers between classes, no time to catch a breath. I had to keep studying, studying, studying and getting those good grades. That’s what everyone told me, so I did it.

Sure, I was a nerd. I got glasses at age twelve when the eye strain caught up to me. I got chubby after I failed out of all manner of sports, and my homework took up too much time for them anyway. I got no invites to parties, or dances, or dates.

Fast forward twenty five years and here’s me again, packing up my backpack before I head into work. Instead of books, however, there’s just a handful of simple items: a pair of sweats, a clean shirt, some running shoes, an old MP3 player with earbuds, and a spare stick of deodorant.

Twenty five years taught me one thing: I can’t abide by studying anymore. It got me nowhere. My intelligence didn’t save me from PTSD or loneliness. No amount of straight A’s could stop my inherited curse of heart disease and low metabolism. The reward for all my hard work had been just that - more hard work. Now, I’ve learned to work for myself.

I need my gym time.

I dream about it, when I can’t go.

I lift those weights and it’s like the weight of all those books falls off my shoulders into the mat.

I plug in my earphones and drown out all the nagging voices, worries, and cares of my day to just breathe.

And my backpack lasts a heck of a lot longer without all that extra baggage dragging it down.

And hopefully, so will I.

Everyone has their own backpack.

One can fill it only with two things.

The destination is clear. Do you think I'm stupid?

All right, I'll tell you what I have in my backpack and where I'm heading.

There are two things in the backpack: good deeds and sins.

***

And where I go is the grave!

On my way to class, I haul my glow in the dark unicorn covered backpack. The seams are straining to contain my laptop, writing utensils and a plethora of notebooks. Although it is filled, everything has a colorful place. I don't mind the ache in my shoulders. My backpack is not a burden; It is a physical manifestation of all that I seek to learn.

This road is getting longer with each step I take. They said it would take me 23 days on foot to reach the village, but they failed to mention all the obstacles. My back is aching from lugging this noticeable sized gem around. She is getting weaker and is almost unable to walk. She didn’t have to tag along, I mean I know she just wants some answers, but I could’ve sent her a letter. Even with no more obstacles, we still have 5 days to go before we reach our destination. Why did they choose me? I keep asking myself. I understand they have said it multiple times, “I am special”, but how? What is so special about a french farm boy?

“Stephen,” my name cuts me like a dagger. Her voice is hoarse and raucous from dehydration.

“Yes Cordelia?,” I force out the words. She doesn’t need to be speaking, please, save your energy.

“How long until the spring?” she asks with anticipation.

“If there isn't any more trouble, then I wanna say maybe 2-3 hours.” I wish I could give her more, but I don’t want her to get her hopes up.

She leaves it at that and goes back to sleep, each new breath not knowing if that will be the last one she takes. I wanna get upset with her, she, a princess, who had everything she needed and then some, comes with me on an unreasonably dangerous journey. Now she is almost on her last stroke of life, I wanna yell at her and tell Cordelia it’s her fault, that she didn’t have to do this. That is not in my system though, I get what it’s like to have those burning questions pick at you until you must do something about it.

What’s in my backpack? Is mines and mines alone. Life challenges I suppose. Love, hate resentment I dare face to face. Hopes and dreams never realized. Getting older and still dealing with the same ignorant shit. Giving your all to those you love. Just to make them happy. Has drained you dry. Your self-esteem and confidence is blown to bits. Now your just trying to find the pieces of you. Who you should have been. Packing up all of your aggravations and irritations: family members, spouses, friends, and all those others who have plucked your nerves. At some point in time it has to end. All of this madness should be excommunicated within you. So, I’m going to take this bag and leave by the side of the road. Where other backpackers have left their shit. This is no ordinary forest but a forest of backpacks and trees. Where the river flows of coded colors of unpacked dreams. Nestled in a place called Nowhere to be found. But the most profound thing is you can unpack your old shit and replace it with new shit and start life a new. The question is? It’s up to you. To pack or unpack. Life is never a dream. My backpack and Me.

My backpack contains nothing. And yet my shoulders are burdened by the weight of existence; talons tearing through flesh, ligament, and bag strap. The backpack contains nothing, and yet nothingness has become my curse as nothing seems to weigh more with each step. And with each step falling slightly heavier, each beat of my heart harder against my chest, and each breath taken becoming less and less efficient at drawing in the oxygen I needed to take each step and beat my dying heart.

Until enough is enough.

I stop, taking refuge on a bench, and rip the bag from my person; revealing the damage the talons had done as blood marred the warm and safe bench. I cannot relax as I open the bag, the zipper screaming as it is tugged on with slow, tired hands. And yet, as the bag lay open on the ground, freed from the burden of being the anchor I am forced to carry, I cannot bear to look at the nothing that was contained within the backpack. To look inside the backpack would be akin to looking at darkness; sheer and terrible darkness that manages to not only encompass every fear, doubt, anxiety, and suicidal thought that had ever crossed my plagued mind, but also managed to consume like a great, black tidal wave of great, gnashing death.

But, to not look inside the bag means putting it back on; allowing the talons to pierce back into already devastating wounds. So, as fear of death incarnate flowed through me like neurons in my body, I slowly peek inside the bag.

Empty.

I rummage through the bag. I check and double-check every crease but find nothing. Nothing for what seemed like eternity. Until I see the great, white light. I take it out the bag, marvelling at the beauty of hope I hold in my hands. I cradle hope, holding it to my chest as I sleep on my bench, allowing rest to curb my pain and exhaustion. And as I wake anew, hope sat within my heart, patient and smiling, spreading an almost divine warmth throughout my body with every heartbeat. I smile, a rarity, as now I had hope.

I fling the backpack across one shoulder, the backpack now a different kind of empty. I go home, abandoning my mission to see the sun rise over the sea from the bridge. I go home because, now I had hope, where else would I go?