My preparations to make a trip back East began with endless forays into the world of online shopping for a new carry-on bag.
I had past success buying a very inexpensive but durable set of lightweight suitcases this way, but alas, my luck seemed to have run out.
Maybe it’s because I developed my shopping habits in department stores, where I could lift bags up, feel materials, and investigate the inner construction; but there is something about looking at a thumbnail of a suitcase that just didn’t translate.
I must have spent months reading testimonials about the latest and greatest carryons out there, each curious click fueling a frenzy of travel websites popping up on my feed. When I finally made my best virtual decision and committed to a bag, I was incredibly relieved that the process was over.
Then the item arrived.
I tried to like it. I really did. But no, it was wrong in every way.
The family pressure to preferentially use carry-on had gotten under my skin to the point that I found myself working against my own comfort level. When I detached from all the mental investment I had made to get to this delivery, though, I realized that ten years of accommodating this bag was not what I wanted to do.
The torture of buying the bag, however, paled compared to convincing the supplier to take it back.
They eco-shamed me.
Chortling about their pledge to sustainability, they plied me with endless emails citing alternate options, all of which involved hanging onto something I didn’t want. This waste of my time I found doubly infuriating because I am old enough to know it is all about the money—and not mine!
The return saga came to an end at the same time my doctor advised me not to lift things over my head.
I packed a more substantial suitcase, and used everything in it.
Minimizing has its limits. ©
