I've worn a cross-body bag for decades: when you are raising kids and you have to fasten a baby into a car seat while restraining a squirming toddler while stopping another kid from kicking a soccer ball to saying no to the teen who wants to drive... you need to have your hands free.
Back then, my purse was packed: cheese sticks, binkies, spare diaper, random doll, cell phone about five times the size of my current one, ring of keys as hefty as those carried by Tower of London guards. Plus lipstick, eyeshadow, hairbrush and not to make the guys squeamish but also lady supplies, because let's be real.
And a pen, and of course my journal.
Nowadays, most of that life is done.
I’m down to a wallet. Phone. Three keys.
Its funny, how when we're younger we are so excited to have these things to carry: our ID, our keys, our money, our phones, our debit cards. And later on, we're so responsible that we get to carry stuff for every single person we're taking care of in our lives.
And one day… we're down to practice nothing.
We arrive with nothing.
We leave with nothing.
The contents of my purse show me that I am moving through the cycles of my life, as you are with yours.
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