Scenery’s Flying By and My Eyebrows Need Filling In
I remember standing on the platform, waiting to catch the mid-life train. Just biding my time—knew it was coming, no big deal. Wondering when it would arrive and how to make sure I got a good seat. My mind wandered, thinking about other things.
Next thing I know, the scenery’s rolling by. My waist is a little—okay, a lot—thicker. I tire more easily. I’m not feeling as maternal as I once did. Curse words now roll off my tongue with newfound ease. My eyebrows are starting to need some filling in… Enough of that scenery.
I Google “mid-life.” It’s generally considered ages 45 to 55.
Shit.
I’m past that.
The scenery is speeding up. Exercise isn’t reversing this gravity-and-age thing. Eight hours of sleep? Sabotaged by some hormonal gremlin beyond my control. Like it or not, I’m moving forward.
Then, my heart skips a few beats. I feel panic rise.
Did my bags make it on board?
I didn’t pack light, and I don’t remember wrestling them up the steps.
Oh God—did I leave them on the platform?
As I try to process the loss of my suitcases, a feeling begins to steal over me—softly, gently.
A fleeting… oh-so-exquisite sense of lightness.
I crush it. Firmly. With the practiced hand of obligation.
I’m not letting go of my baggage.
Which gets me thinking: what luggage do we really need for this leg of the journey?
The experts will tell you to bring your 401(k), write your will, update the advance directive and power of attorney.
The doctor will remind you to pack your meds.
The therapist? A journal. For your thoughts, feelings, revelations.
You’ll need clothes—preferably with elastic waistbands and wrinkle-resistant fabric.
Sunglasses. Cell phone. A good moisturizer.
That’s a lot to pull together—even for experienced travelers who’ve learned how to go confidently with carry-on only.
But I’m not talking about that luggage.
I’m talking about the baggage.
The stuff you can’t stuff in a suitcase. The weight that won’t fit in an overhead compartment or under the seat in front of you.
The baggage wedged into your thoughts, wrapped tight around your heart, strapped to your creativity with way too much duct tape.
The legacy baggage we carry for our parents, grandparents, society.
The emotional freight we’ve handed off to our children—to the next generation.
The bags that put us way over the weight limit for travel.
The ones so covered in tags, stickers, and labels we’re no longer sure who they belong to—some were just sitting next to ours, so we picked them up. Trying to do the right thing.
That’s what I’m talking about.
Did it make it on board?
