The Burden of

Baggage, something we all carry. Sometimes we forget about it temporarily, but it is always omnipresent and usually far heavier than we perceive.

Our baggage wears different garments; some a subtle gray cloud; like the essence emotion usually wears. Other items are far more vibrant, the brutal red of anger, or the seething orange of envy.

And occasionally it hides from our awareness, Yet we still feel its weight as we travel the path of life carrying our own burden of baggage.

Recently I read an article about the liberation of “letting go” of grudges, and I tentatively peeked into my own tote bag not expecting to find any such item.

Yet there it was, hidden behind the cloak of memory.

I remembered a cruel remark made about me while my husband was dying. I thought about it briefly at the moment when it was said, then let it linger. As it lingered, it grew and when I re-examined it recently, i had to admit it had magnified in size.

As I reinspected it, I became aware it obviously had no value even in recollection, and I rid myself of its burden. My day became far easier.

Then I thought of the baggage I carried with me when I relocated. Items, logically I had to realize I could never use in my new life. Yet rather than embracing the gift of relocation I chose to linger in yesterdays, moments never to return.

I have begun to give some of these items away to a young woman whose world is still in front of her. Not like mine which has moved forward in time. I feel released from the burden of emotional pretense that once again I will entertain with a room full of guests. Rather I have begun to anticipate with pleasure the quiet moments of emotional support I share with new friends instead of dwelling on the yesterdays of my life.

One highly successful designer for women’s clothing has a recycle program allowing customers to return worn items. Her company then proceeds to recycle and distribute rejuvenated items to needy women.

Yesterday as I packed some of the clothing I was returning for this service, I realized many of the pieces going into the box were part of the baggage of time long gone that I have carried with me.

Obviously, the sequin jacket I once wore on a spring night was not going to have a role in my current world, nor the strapless turquoise dress I wore on that memorable weekend in Barbados. Indeed, not.

Admittedly all our baggage wears a disguise. If we are astute enough to admit its reality, then we can be freed of that burden.

Yet, it is never easy to do that.