What I Carry
Task 7, February 9 to February 16
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"When I hear somebody say 'Life is hard', I am always tempted to ask 'Compared to what?' Sidney J. Harris
I met an old friend at a bar on Pico. I've known him for about 25 years. At one time we were young and spritely; now we are gray and complain about our sore joints. My friend--his name is Paul--is a wise man, especially after a couple of Mai Tai's, and that night, after I said for the tenth time, "I don't know who I am anymore", he said sagely, "you are what you carry every day".
I grumbled something and forgot about it. But the next day, as I slogged my way down the 405 to work, I thought, "what do I carry?"
So when I got to work I sat down at my company-issued Dell computer, created a document and wrote: What I Carry. Then I started my inventory.
In my right front pocket are my keys. There's a key for the front door, a key for my car, which is a leased Civic by the way, a key to my wine cellar--just kidding, no wine cellar, but there was another key and I did't know what the hell it opened. I keep it because I know if I throw it away, within 15 minutes I will need it to open something.
In my other front pocket I have my phone. It's an old iphone and it's almost always in my pocket, and I wear the same pair of pants so often that the shape of the phone is worn into the denim.
In my back pocket is my wallet. In the part where you put your currency, I had two one dollar bills and a receipt from Jack in The Box. I had a fish sandwich meal. I got curly fries and an ice tea with it, and I was supposed to throw away the receipt because I didn't want my wife
to find it and give me shit for A) not eating my sack lunch, and B) not getting her something, because if I'm getting fast food, then she wants me to get her fast food, even if she doesn't eat fast food. Make sense?
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In the smaller compartments of the wallet I have pictures of the kids. In one of them my youngest son was wearing a soccer uniform, which makes me happy and sad at the same time, because my time as a soccer dad are long behind me.
I'm carrying a lunchbox. It used to belong to one of my kids. It's blue and plastic and has two sleeves in the top for frozen ice squares. Inside is a ham sandwich, made with wheat bread, which is supposed to be healthier than white bread but this loaf came from the 99 cent store so I doubt that it was packin' too many nutrients; an apple and a crunch bar for a snack, and a bag of fritos. Fritos, by the way, may be the saltiest food in the world. After one bag--and it's not a big bag--I'm as thirsty as if I had just run a marathon.
I carry a brown messenger bag. Inside is a day planner, because I'm too old school for Outlook, a couple of spare pens (with my company's logo on the side), and a L.L.Bean receipt for a pair of Scotch Plaid Flannel pajamas that I got my wife for Christmas.
And that's it. That's what I am toting. If I get run off the road on the way home and I die, all of what I carry would fit in a small plastic bag. They'd give the plastic bag to my wife, and she'd throw out the lunch, pocket the dollar bills, glare at the Jack in the Box receipt, take the photos and put them in her wallet, and try to figure out what the extra key was for...and then she would toss the wallet.
At first I was mildly depressed, but then I thought--I AM what I carry. And I KNOW what I am: I'm a husband, a father, an employee; I'm settled, reliable, and responsible--and I'm ok with that.
TASK:
--Inventory your tote-ables. Then think about what that means.