Some read futures in tealeaves; I read the future in baggage.
“I’m leaving!”
“Yeah, I guess the packed suitcase told me that.”
We learn things from each other. Go ahead try it. Say “hi” to someone; see what they do.
I’m waiting.
Do it.
C’mon…
Thanks.
Now you’ve not only learned how they respond, you’ve also learned how persistent I am. Still, easy, right? You barely had to participate.
Some lessons aren’t that easy. Some lessons require you become involved.
“Don’t touch—you’ll lose your hand”
That not only teaches us not to stick our hand in the table saw, but it also teaches us things not to do in front of a girlfriend’s father. Unfortunately, it’s a lesson few learn without experimentation.
Call me stumpy.
The more we deal with other people, the more we have to be careful what we learn. Not all lessons made from our choices are good lessons; too many harsh lessons leave us jaded. I’ve seen it in my own life. Jading not only erodes our hearts, it also hurts the innocent, sometimes jading them.
Things people teach us affect our relationships with them and others. Their lessons can also leave us questioning our future. Some people call these lessons “baggage.”
The pirate queen and I are sifting through our luggage. It’s a phase. It usually comes just after you trust somebody enough to say, “I love you,” but before somebody starts unloading baggage into drawers. Ok, sometimes that’s not the order, but in our case it’s one of the lessons we’ve both picked up. See, we both came with full sets of luggage; we both have pasts rich with lessons. It’s part of our relationship: We trade baggage, and see if they match.
“Abandonment issues, mine.”
“Ok, lack of trust, that’s mine.”
“They look ok together, plus they’re both hard-sided too…”
We were camping last weekend. While lying in the bed, staring at the stars, she said, “It’s weird sleeping on this side of the bed.” I read that as a sign to switch sides. Not because I thought she had an insurmountable urge to be right, but because I had an overwhelming desire to be left. It was a moment of levity. Levity and cold breezy nights rarely go well together.
We read the constellations differently. By moving, I’d shifted the blankets, removing any warmth from our bed.
“I don’t need to switch sides. I don’t know who in your past made that important, but I’m not that way.”
Eh…wha? Pirate baggage comes with cannon balls.
I got my levity in her baggage and it didn’t go very good together. I could have confronted her on the issue, but confrontation is in my baggage. Besides, screaming at each other from across the tent while our underwear froze to our bodies seemed a counter productive addition to anybody’s duffle of joy.
Oh, and she had the car keys…
What lesson did we learn there? I don’t know. I learned to be careful. I learned there’s a red flag, but I don’t know where it rests. Further investigation will tell me, but am I ready to search? Right now I know that The Pirate Queen has a jack-in-the-box in her luggage, and that’s all I need to know.
Is that right?
Here’s the other thing: maybe it’s not. Maybe I’m just looking at her baggage through a zippered flap in mine. That’s the trick about dating again after a divorce. You just don’t know what’s real and what’s filtered baggage.
“And I’m just been getting started!”
She’s been asking questions of monogamy lately. That means she’s asking questions, but which ones? Yeah, I know, “monogamy,” but monogamy is a slippery fish and has many interpretations. My baggage has a poor interpretation of this question, and yes, my baggage talks.
“I want you to leave.”
There’s another problem between us. I’ve encountered this before, and it scares me most of all. Our hurts have left us questioning ourselves. One person pulls away, and the other responds. It’s a learned response. More frequently, she’s the puller. It hurts, but I know it’s part of her healing process.
Or is it? Reading baggage is like spy work. You don’t know anything but are required to interpret everything. That means reading baggage is as accurate as reading tealeaves, or playing Go Fish.
“Do you have any Queens?”
Ok, maybe it is more like that…
Still, each time she pulls away, I grow a little more used to it. . This pattern falls into my previous lessons: I know if that continues I’ll put it in my baggage until I pack up and go. I don’t want that.
I have a secret. I love her. Shhh. Oh, it’s ok, you can tell her. She knows, but sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t stop reminding myself. The baggage sorting isn’t easy, and it’s not for the meek, and when is it time to trade a handful of red flags for a white one?
The reality is it’s a choice that we all make. My answer may not be right for you, and it’s possible it’s not even right for her, but it’s one I have to make and live with. The real trick is that life is simple, but our baggage complicates things. Our answers are never easy when reading the future in baggage because our baggage is grounded in the past.
And yet that’s the thing about baggage: we can’t unload anybody else’s baggage for them. No matter how much I’d love to wrap The Pirate Queen in my arms and kiss her baggage away; I can’t. If I choose to stick around, all I can do is put my own baggage down, hold her hand and ask, “Where do you want this?”
That’s nearly impossible when reading my future through my own baggage, but I’m trying.
It’s time.
