Red Room Where the Writers Are

Waiting...

Bag lady, you gon' miss your bus
You can't hurry up
'Cause you got too much stuff
When they see you comin
Niggas take off runnin'
From you, it's true, oh yes they do

One day, he gon' say you crowdin' my space
One day, he gon' say you crowdin' my space
I said one day, he gon' say you crowdin' my space
One day, he gon' say you crowdin' my space

So pack light...

- Bag Lady, Erykah Badu

Everyone has baggage.  We're all milling around a train station carrying bags of various shapes and sizes. 

Some of us have bags that are light and manageable - bags flung over the shoulder, or small rolling suitcases - allowing us to easily interact with people.  Allowing us to hold hands with another, share a coffee, lean in for a kiss.  Others of us are weighed down with luggage; pack rats who can't seem to travel without at least two bags over each shoulder, a backpack, and several rolling suitcases that necessitate a baggage cart.  Our hands are so full that we can barely deal with ourselves, let alone others. 

But make no mistake.  Everyone has baggage.  For a while, I dreamed of people who didn't.  They don't exist.  Everyone is on the journey, and they wouldn't come to the train station empty-handed.  Everyone is going somewhere having come from somewhere else.

And so we mill about, brushing against people with our bags, knocking into theirs.  Ideally, one of two things happens.  Either we find someone with the same baggage as ours - a fellow messenger bag carrier with whom we can walk arm in arm; or otherwise someone anchored down in the waiting area with as many bags as we have, with whom we can sit and comiserate.  Or, we find someone with compatible luggage - either someone carrying one bag who can help us carry ours, or we are the helpful ones helping someone lift a bag onto a luggage rack.

Sadly, this kind of connection isn't an everyday occurrence.  Sometimes, people carrying only a handbag don't want to be slowed down by someone with a lot of baggage, though the person carrying it could be the most amazing person in the world.  Other times, when people who are weighed down by bags are approached by another while lugging all of that around, they are too flustered, tired, or annoyed to handle it properly.  We let our baggage define us, as opposed to treating it as what it is: not us, but what we are carrying.  We let baggage define other people, not seeing them for their suitcases.  Most of the time, instead of connection, there is only bustle.

Apologies for the unwieldy metaphor, but I couldn't get it out of my head last night as I thought about the men who've held my interest recently.  There has been no connection with any of them.  There's only been baggage.  Mine.  Theirs.  I've tried very hard to be the person who helps them carry theirs.  I've held mine out asking for help.  I've tried to understand when their baggage hasn't allowed them to handle me properly.  This is extremely difficult.

I've said before that one of the things that makes me angriest is wasted potential.  I feel as though baggage has stunted the potential for interaction. 

No one has ever really seen me, because of all the stuff I'm carrying.  But I don't know how to pack any less. 

No one will let me help them with their bags.  Men being men, they prefer to deal with these things on their own much of the time.

I can't be helpful.  I've never been helped.  I've missed all my connections.  And very often it feels like I'm sitting in the train station waiting for a trip that will never happen on a train I'll never be nimble enough to board on my own.