"Hand Luggage Only"

A short piece I wrote about the concept of 'baggage' in a relationship.

“Always carry a new pair of socks/When you start on a long plane ride/Between medicine and memory/You will find what you need to survive/In the pressurized hours/The lessons of life come at you hard... That’s when you wake up in your seat/Wishing there was a clean shirt In your hand luggage to cover up your heart” "Bana

Watching a bemusing episode of Dinner Date, a hopeful-looking love-seeker stipulated his terms on ‘baggage’. “Everyone has baggage. But I’d prefer someone with light baggage”. So hand luggage only, yeah mate? Nothing too serious. Nothing too damaging. Nothing that would require too much effort to rectify, nothing that requires some healing of psychological scars. 

That makes some good sense. I feel like there’s some clinical evolutionary advantage in that mindset. 

But how many potential beautiful moments, and beautiful people, does that eradicate from your pool of prospectives? You don’t know, and most likely won’t know, how hefty and cumbersome someone’s ‘baggage’ is until you’re further than just dipping an exposed toe into their waters. It’s probably only when you’ve hitched up your skinny jeans and teetered a little further, carefully eyeing up the darker shapes moving eerily in the cooler depths, that you get a feel for the magnitude of their particular ocean " their kaleidoscopic world of past experiences.

But why, oh why, is that so scary. We all have an ocean " its the very thing that has brought you to the particular shore you’re now standing on. No doubt there may be some deep-sunk shipwrecks of varying catastrophic ends (some barnacled and newly inhabited, some which metamorphose into softly polished drift wood soon to turn up on your beaches, or indeed someone else’s), but it becomes a body which should instil awe, conjure admiration, give life to new beginnings. It’s the momentum and the persistent ebbing and lapping of this water that has brought you proudly here. It worked bloody hard to dredge you up again.

“Freedom” by Zenos Frudakis

“Freedom” by Zenos Frudakis

That’s why I think Its such a bizarre little term, ‘baggage’. Kind of implies belongings that are to be carried. If they’re lost, surely you spend an hour on a helpline geolocating your luggage thats ended up, forlorn and far-flung, in New Mexico. Our terminology is so belittlingly derogatory. An inconvenience. Don’t have it; don’t tell me about your troublesome past for I have not the time nor the patience. Don’t you? I’m not saying it’s a joyous way to spend a Saturday; newly coupled, unpicking the healing wounds (or septic, scarring, fresh " delete as applicable). But they are not to be shame-inducing. They are part of the intricately woven tapestry of your emotions; your neuronic pathways have been re-written by these very experiences. They are inherently an intrinsic part of your being now. 

If we were to accept what our vernacular dictates and run with the ‘baggage’ analogy, then, like baggage, these burdens can be let go of. If the person has managed to do that, then you too, can leave that baggage sitting quietly in the dusty collection hall of your mind’s Gatwick airport. But equally, if they think they may well have left some handy life-lessons packed in that baggage, some painful but invaluable learnings that they’d really like some help retrieving, go unzip that burden and sit a while rummaging through it together. Respectfully unfold, listen to what you are told; resist any desire to scold and then just hold. Words are, on occasion, the most interfering means of talking. 

And if, by some almighty rarity, you find a specimen that is unblemished, one free from their too, too sullied flesh… run. Show me the unscathed miracle who remains untarnished, untouched by one mark-making experience of whatever magnitude. I will run too. I am not a great runner, but that’s a harsh spur. For those aren’t the souls that intrigue and inspire. 

The most magical, illuminating thing you can dream of, is to look deep into the eyes of another unbridled ocean of flesh and bone, and accept the vista whole-heartedly. Take a little scuba dive if they’ll let you. Observe, admire, acknowledge. Love unreservedly and unconditionally. Be they friends, lovers, siblings, your parents. That kind of baggage handling is the kind for me. 

“the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.” " Kerouac

Author's Note

Any and all feedback welcome - I love writing but am not yet refined or skilled.