What’s in Your Backpack?

This photo (actually I’m sure it’s like three or four photos) took a lot of editing.

I bought this backpack ten years ago, which doesn’t sound like a long time, but I was a different person back then. It still has pre-pandemic hopes and dreams in it, like empty candy wrappers that I still haven’t thrown away or stickers that I haven’t found a place for.

Maybe that’s what I’m doing here. Pre-pandemic me had ideas and grand plans, and they led me on a wild goose chase around the world. Now, post-pandemic me is sitting here with a backpack full of memories that I don’t know what to do with. They feel out of place. They feel like they don’t belong in such a time as this. Like colorful souvenir magnets from exotic places holding up photos on your fridge of friends and family who’ve passed away.

I think that’s what I’m doing here, getting the souvenirs out of my backpack. Using the stickers. Putting them somewhere instead of leaving them crumpled in a forgotten pocket.

Dealing with the guilt. The guilt of thinking it was so simple. The guilt of surviving. The guilt of a Prodigal, who spent all my privilege on a dream that led to nowhere and returning unable to care for myself.

It doesn’t serve anyone at the bottom of my backpack. It needs to be put in its proper place, and free up space so I can carry something useful.