At least once a week I dump the contents of my purse on the floor of the passenger seat of my car. My frustration at not being able to find something––my cell phone, keys, pens, checkbook, grocery list, blue tooth, etc., drives me to this extreme of emptying it all out. Sometimes I am so pressed for time I have to leave all the stuff right there in a heap or I am just too exhausted from the search to clean it up. And then I come back to the mess and there it is the truth of my anxiety and stress on the floor of my car.
I don’t know how long I’ve been at this little scenario but I go into “recovery” mode as soon as it’s over and promise never to put myself in this place again. But of course I do and the process starts all over again.
This morning I had an epiphany. My purses are running and ruining my life. They are the metaphor of the anxiety that follows me around—the too much to do, too much to remember, that one more thing that needs to get done (that I do) and that ends up stressing me out. My purses are big black holes of space, carrying too much to hold and weighing me down with their contents. Stuff I could really live without but choose not to, no matter the consequence.
Today, I am really going into purse/life recovery. I am going out to purchase a small (not tiny) purse. It will hold the 5 things I really need—my wallet, my phone, my earpiece, my keys and one lipstick. I can’t be sure that this will really help but I have the sense that I am onto something. Let’s see how long I can make this last.
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