I’ve got baggage and at times its weight feels over the limit. It’s the kind of baggage that should end up unclaimed in the lost luggage closet tucked deep within a remote airport basement. My bags are filled with feelings of disregard and rejection; hurtful and condemning words; tear-filled pillows and unwanted loneliness. Their contents have been layered, rolled, stuffed and stacked, then zipped, buckled, strapped and locked, but like Houdini, they mysteriously surface with unpredictable timing and illogical reasoning. A casual remark from an unsuspecting friend can often summon the baggage, magically linking these feelings together like a paper-chain boa adorned in unwelcomed fashion. On display, in their assuming and accusing style, they model years of pain through explosive response, quiet evacuation or suffocating endurance. I’m not proud of the burdens I carry. I’d rather tag and ship them in the opposite direction. But I own them. I recognize them. I sometimes must apologize for them. All I can do is check them and carry on. -PS©2015



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4 responses to “Carry-On

  1. Wow! You are so insightful! I’m not fit to even stand in your shadow. Don Rogers.

  2. Keep dancing mister, wherever the rhythm takes you.

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