There was a time when I carried around a picture of this marc jacobs bag (see above to get general idea) that I coveted. It wasn't just the bag that i desired (tho it was a sweet chocolate brown leather with some slouchy style and well-placed pockets), it was what this bundle of cowhide, straps and clasps represented that made me want to own it. Not status or cachet, but instead this bag symbolized an anchor in my life to stop spinning.
At the time I was teaching writing workshops in the public schools, and while there were absolutely moments of satisfaction and smiles, it was also a really hectic and taxing gig, both emotionally and physically. I carried with me to every school a massive satchel filled with the students' writing books, groves-worth of Xeroxes with poems and stories to pass out, a couple of tiny speakers and a portable CD player for writing warmups. The bag was huge and every day was dragged to another school in another borough—sometimes two locales in a day—and filled with ever-more stuff. When I spotted the Marc Jacobs advertisement, it was on a subway platform where, exhausted, I was waiting for a connecting train. It dawned on me that along with that purse i wanted a one-trick day. By shrinking my bag I would open up my life, have more freedom of movement...I dubbed this the search for the "little-purse job."
I did eventually get one job at one location at one magazine (with fierce sample sales, though the M.Jacobs bag was never in my universe), and carried one purse, which I still managed to cram full of stuff—for some reason it seems important to carry enough reading material to last me a month or so if I'm ever stuck in the subway. It also dawned on me around that time how disillusioned I was about what I needed, whether that was space, time or communication. For instance, I'd always use a post-it when what I really needed was a full-size (sometimes even poster-size) sheet of blank paper. This (and the bag) became a metaphor for my life. An example of how it didn't matter whether I had tons of room or a tiny amount, I was confused about how to manage any of it. I wondered how I could be more honest about what exactly I needed by taking my time and looking at what was around me. And then putting it in the proverbial bag if needed, putting it aside if not, and being forthright about using up as much space as necessary. I still find myself starting large on a small scrap, then cramping little words in the margin as I run out of space.
How to be bold about staying in that generous moment? being judicious, being patient. Using discretion with the who and what around me. And in so doing, allowing other people to have as much space as they need as well. I've felt challenged lately with time. feel my jaw clenching around wanting answers to things that i can't control, other people's actions that I can't have anything to do with. And i'm realizing that if i just slow down and see what i'm filling myself up with (emotionally speaking) that i'll have so much more room. I've been slower than ever in my studio movement, literally taking molasses-like moments to move my hand over my knee or peel off an item of clothing. I've kept my eyes open and watched the room around me and it's absolutely luxurious, but then suddenly it becomes excruciating and, without thinking, I spin out and roll away. the space feels too much, too raw with possibilities. A billboard-size opportunity to fill up (and i could), a perfect M.Jacobs bag to hold my stuff (and I would). And i will...keep trying.
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