Year Two. Month Two. #SLC.

I live my life out of a bag.

Actually, several bags. I've got my medium-sized heavy duty Luggage Works 17" suitcase. For shorter trips, I roll (literally) with my TravelPro rolling tote. My InFlight Operations Manual and Flight Attendant Handbook happily live in a large, nondescript black tote bag which also doubles as a purse on overnights. I've got a pocket and pouch for everything and I never truly, completely unpack.

It's a strange life.

I also live out of hotels, airports and most recently, my car. My life revolves around hotel shuttle van pick-ups, early morning airport drop-offs, winding my way through the maze of the employee lot, and often times, taking a nap in my airport crew lounge if I have the afternoon off.

Lately, I rarely go home.

Home is a wonderful place, and yes, it does exist. It is a humble house on an island outside of the city. There is a porch where I sit barefoot in a red chair, sipping iced tea and listening to the sound of the nearby harbor. It is there where I am truly content, holding hands with my wonderful boyfriend, snuggling up to my cat Bruce and enjoying the slow pace of island life.

But content is a fickle thing. I could have the island life every day. I could quit my job and pick up my waitress tray again, slinging drinks at the local pub. Or I could go back to being a nanny. Or I could pick up a retail job, or an entry level office job. It would be an easy, laid back life. I would have the schedule I wanted. I wouldn't have very much more money than now, but I would be home every night.

At night, I lay in bed in strange hotels, terrified that I will be sucked into this life on the road ... more like, in the air. I wonder if my relationships will hold out, if my friends and family will still know me, if my cat will remember who I am. And I can't sleep because my heart hurts so bad in these moments. Balance sometimes seems impossible.

What do I do?

I just keep trying to ride this wave of wanting to be everywhere.

I call home. I cry, I miss it so bad. And then I list myself for a flight to Seoul. To Tel Aviv. To Amsterdam. To New York City. And I go.

It makes no sense, and yet it makes all the sense in the world. I have this fear of missing out on everything. If I don't travel now, I will be sixty and wishing that I would have seen the world. If I don't stay home, I will miss out on the best years of my life with the best people in my life. I want to scoop everyone I love into my bag and take them with me -- but I can't.

My life in a bag. When does it get better?

Don't try to walk a mile in my shoes. Pack yourself into my bag and come with me.

I want to show you everything.


  1. This is also how I feel. It is hard to find balance, or maintain it :) thanks for posting!


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