I was walking through the airport, pushing one of those carts that you can rent. It was almost overflowing, with 2 carry-on-sized suitcases, a backpack, a laptop, and a diaper bag. And those were just our carry-ons; we had 5 other full-sized suitcases we’d checked. It seemed absurd and excessive almost, but when you think about packing up your entire life- for you, your partner, and a 7 week old baby- getting it down to just a few suitcases isn’t really so bad.
But I was thinking more about 10 years before. I saw myself, barely 18 years old, headed off to spend 6 months in Europe, waking through the airport alone, my hair a mix of purple, red, and blue, a scowl on my face, hung over from my good-bye party that had lasted into early that morning, with nothing but a backpack. Not a backpacker backpack, mind you, but rather a school backpack. And that was all. No checked luggage. No purse. Just me and my backpack, and all my hopes and fears. I was sure I had everything I needed- essentially a couple changes of clothes, a toothbrush, a book, and a raging sense of adventure. What I lacked in packed items I more than made up for with my blank-slate-open mind and heart.
Ten years later, I’d like to think I’m just as adaptable. But I know I’m not. My life is different; I’m different. I’ve got way more baggage, in more ways than one. But that baggage is a mixed bag; it also means I have way more to bring to the table. And so this new phase begins.
Here we are on the plane:
exile to mexico 