Got Baggage?


I travel quite a bit for both work and pleasure. I am a frequent flier, complete with award miles to spend, TSA Pre-Check benefits, priority boarding with three different airlines, and free checked bags. I have travelled for work for almost seven years, now, and have evolved in my preferences over that time. Originally, I did all “carry-on”. For a few years, I compromised style and comfort for the total inconvenience and sheer hell of dragging my miniscule suitcase everywhere with me. On more than one occasion, I ran from airport gate to gate at a clip so desperate, my roller board didn’t roll so well, and because I was in such a hurry and already burdened with my overstuffed computer bag (backpack), I simply drug it along, on its side behind me. Once, my carry on suitcase teetered off the escalator step, and, failing to simply let go of it, to avoid taking out the folks on the steps below me, I clenched the handle and, ever so slowly, lost my balance until it pulled me down several steps into a heap on the floor. I landed atop my suitcase, at the foot of the escalator, in some airport, somewhere. Seattle, I think. But, because I was all “carry-on”, I never lost my bags. My bags and I always arrived at the same airport at the same time. But, I had to deal with jockeying my way on to the airplane at the earliest point in time in order to secure adequate space in the overhead bins for my “as large as permissible and wholly over packed” roller board bag. Talk about stress! And I made no friends in the boarding area when it came time for my boarding zone to be called.

luggage stuffing

I was at a company meeting in Chicago a few years back, arriving late, exhausted, bags in tow. I met a couple of late arriving co-workers in the elevator and one such co-worker had with him, the largest, orangest, suitcase I have ever seen in my life, accompanied by another orange suitcase, nearly as large, one I would have considered “the largest ever”, before this encounter. Our company meeting was to be only three days. I couldn’t help but comment. My co-worker, a larger than life gay man with a particular way of doing everything, who is oft quoted as saying “sounds like a you problem”, filled me in on his big baggage policy. In his behemoth, orange suitcases, he has room to bring his favorite, down, pillow, from home and all the other creature comforts he cherishes (I didn’t ask for any more details). Life on the road should not equate to compromise, he stated. I nodded. True. How true! Another co-worker, also an adorable gay man, always checks his bag, though more reasonable in size, because he likes to bring “full-size” bottles of shampoo and contact lens solution. “I hate refilling little plastic bottles all the time.” I nodded. Right. How right! Yet another co-worker always checks her bags because she distrusts hotel linens, and, so, packs her own Egyptian cotton linens of an absurd thread count, whenever/wherever she goes. And finally, the shoe diva, a co-worker with an insatiable appetite for very expensive shoes, had an impressively sized, auxiliary, suitcase, checked, of course, for “just shoes”. Suddenly, my life seemed so inadequate, so dismal, so sparse, so compromised; jostling tiny little plastic refillable bottles in their entirely too small quart sized 3-1-1 bag, one pair of “practical shoes” (a synonym for “ugly” in the language of footwear), no work-out clothes, only one bra, no satin pillow case, no favorite bottle of wine, all TSA compliant and a pain in the ass to drag around from gate to gate, terminal to terminal, airplane to airplane, overhead storage bin to overhead storage bin. It was then and there that I began my baggage evolution.

Staff members try to move huge trolley case during Chinese Export Commodities Fair in Guangzhou

I am now the proud owner of my second set of matchy-matchy, wine colored, Samsonites, one slightly smaller than the other, but both, in combination, in volume, close to the largest suitcase I’ve ever seen! Yes, I have already worn one set of suitcases out, we can actually thank a TSA agent in BFE, Montana, for finally busting the zipper on my road-worn suitcase. Why he felt he “had” to search it, I don’t know. What, the next massive terror attack is going to originate at a Tuff Shed size airport in BFE, Montana? I digress.

thanks TSA

In my suitcases, I carry with me, now, every creature comfort I desire; a bottle of wine for every two days I will be away from my wine cellar (which, truthfully, consists of a single, cardboard, box in my garage), corkscrew, and squishable, plastic, stemless, wine glasses, a champagne/large format beer bottle closure, a bar of exquisite dark chocolate, a bag of my favorite cereal, dried apricots, almonds, a cutting board and paring knife, a couple of really cute, plastic bowls, for my cereal yogurt, a coffee-press-coffee-mug, satin pillow cases, fuzzy wuzzy slippers, every pair of shoes/boots I feel I may be in the mood for, multiple sweaters and jackets, work out clothes, athletic shoes and a yoga mat. Once, I even brought dumb bells, when I knew I was going to be in a hotel sans a fitness center and away from home for three consecutive weeks. And I am now, feverishly, on a quest for a small, battery operated, coffee bean grinder.


For years, like two, I never suffered from the plague called “lost bags”. Every time I got off the plane and headed for the baggage carousel, there were my two wine colored Samsonites with their “Priority” tags affixed, spinning slowly, around the conveyer. In the past year, though, I have arrived a day or so before my luggage on more occasions than I can count. Knock wood, I have not, yet, had my treasured wine-colored bags and cherished contents permanently lost. Does that actually happen?

baggage 4

You may be thinking I have too much stuff, she who supposedly embraces minimalism, and while that may seem the case, I do have everything I need, and plenty of options, too. On too many occasions, when traveling more sparsely packed, I have had to purchase a pair of shoes, tights, slacks, a sweater, toiletries, wine, purses, scarves, and, yes, on more than one occasion, an extra suitcase to haul the new loot home. Now that I am habitually over packed, I am ready for anything. I love spontaneity, and one must be prepared for spontaneity! One must be adequately prepared for spontaneity! You can’t go out target practicing in the boonies in heels and a skirt, you can’t go on an impromptu airboat ride in a business suit, and you can’t go to a fine dining establishment in soiled, holy jeans and a wife-beater. I pack for all occasions. On all occasions.

baggage 2

In a further attempt to avoid arriving with full bags, but minus some, one, critical item, I have taken to buying triplicate of toiletries, hair styling appliances, corkscrews and bottle closures, and such; home use, suitcase, gym bag. I keep little bags of organic, whole, raw almonds EVERYWHERE! My computer bag, my running pack, my suitcases (both), my purse, my gym bag, my desk drawer, my cupboard, of course, in the glove box of my car, and, I believe I saw a bag in the center console of my car, too. I was a Boy Scout leader for over a decade; I embrace preparedness beyond reason. My bags, now, are never quite unpacked. I do immediately remove my clothes, no matter the time of day I return from my trip, and dutifully launder them. I’m not one to keep smelly, dirty clothes, festering in my suitcase. I may need them again, soon, and I’d like them clean and ready to go. Besides, who wants to open a suitcase full of stinky, dirty, clothes three weeks, three months, or three years after they arrived home? I never put my bags in storage, they are always rolling about in my room, always at the ready, always in the way, a constant reminder of the lifestyle I lead.


Yes, I check my bags, as many as I can, as full as I can possibly pack them. Yes, they have been temporarily lost, but, I still say, it’s all worth the risk. More often than not, I am all comfy at my destination in my fuzzy slippers, sipping a fine glass of wine, or walking about wearing a lovely pair of shoes and an adorable sweater, after a great workout and a hot shower with all my favorite potions and lotions, my industrial quality blow dryer, straightening iron, and curling iron infused with Moroccan argan oil. It’s totally worth the risk. It’s totally worth the effort. It’s totally worth the expense. I finally got tired of a compromised experience, travelling from, living from, a tiny suitcase, week after week, month after month, limiting my risk, limiting my quality of life, while on the road.

baggage 3

I almost always arrive to spend some quality time with someone special to me, only to be greeted with something like, “shit, girl”. Yes, this is my shit. Yes, I’m a girl.


I have baggage. In the literal sense and in the figurative sense. And don’t we all. For what it’s worth, I manage by baggage pretty well. I can pack my suitcases to precisely fifty pounds, and not an ounce more, I lift them in and out of the trunk of the car by myself, on and off the shuttle bus, and up and down stairs both at home and at some hotels where the elevator is of questionable mechanical integrity. I’d like to say the same about my figurative baggage. I manage. Though it may look as large, bold, and unwieldy as my large, purple suitcases, with the zippers barely holding shit in, but likewise, I’ve got it all handled. Like the Samsonite gorilla.

baggage 6

The “baggage” we are carry, often, is a result of taking risks in life, in love, in employment, in experiences. The “baggage” we carry almost always provides us with the catalyst to learn, to grow, to become greater that we once were. Hurt, perhaps, lost, a for a little bit, like a misplaced suitcase, but whole, again, with a little time and the right attitude. And, like a suitcase, the baggage we carry, can be unpacked, laundered, and put away when we’re ready. Living life without taking risks is much like trying to live for a week out of a puny piece of luggage; a fairly unenjoyable experience. Risk is to reward what caution is to compromise. And, usually, baggage.

baggage 5

Too often I hear people dismiss people, acquaintances, would be dates or lovers, job applicants or friends, because they “have too much baggage”. May I just say, if you think you don’t have baggage, you are a) incorrect b) tempting fate c) in for big trouble d) in denial. Baggage, in life, equates to “troubles”, of course, “trials”, “problems”. Please, really, tell me, who is completely free of troubles, trials, or problems, ever, in their whole life? Only fibbers, braggarts, and liars. And, perhaps, like beauty, those troubles, trials and problems are merely in the eye of the beholder. We all have scars, we all have baggage. To be so closed minded as to label someone as having too many troubles, trials, problems to be worthy of friendship, of acquaintance, of employment, of companionship, is really, quite cruel. And limiting. And foolish. For, in my experience, from my own experience, and in observation of many, people of admirable wisdom, people with the most self-worth, self-confidence, and, by far, the best stories, are those who’ve handled the most “baggage”. So, “shit, girl”, you bet!

baggage 7


Scarlett’s Letter July 14, 2013

It’s here. The day I have been dreading, the day vacation ends, the day I travel back home to my “normal” life. With every pore of my being, I don’t want to go, but I am duty bound. My airline ticket is paid for and I have work at the crack of dawn tomorrow morning and I know Mom has been missing me. I thought of “missing” my flight, but I know that would just create way more drama than I’m willing to manage.

I’m packed. I’ve been packed for a couple of days. This is the only place I visit or travel to, ever, that I actually unpack into drawers. Ordinarily, when away from home, I just live out of my suitcase. Even at home, some things, I just leave in my suitcase and deal with from there, because I know, sooner rather than later, I’ll be heading out again. I started making my customary piles several days ago. As a frequent traveler, that’s what I do.  I make piles. I have my electronics pile, my personal care products pile, my shoe pile and my clothing pile. To most, I appear hyper-organized, to me, the piles are random, but very necessary, and the only means by which I’ve managed to never forget anything vital. A few things, I just have duplicates of, one for home, one remains in the bag, to avoid that horrible discovery, no deodorant or no toothbrush.

I’ve begun to leave things behind here, now. For example, my snow boots, which we bought here when I visited in March. I have more use for them here than in Cali, though I do snow camp, and such, I’m equipped enough for the snow down there. I’ve left my favorite old pair of Vans, too. Ironically, I bought them here when I first came here for work, nearly three years ago, the day before I met the man I call mine, now.  And they came in so handy, an impulse buy, a BOGO I picked up with the purchase of practical work shoes for my last day on site training my client. I ended up using my BOGO Vans for the first ever airboat ride. Now, though pretty worn out, they are permanent residents in Alaska and have been on many, many more airboat excursions.  And now I’ve left my old Lucky Brand jeans behind, the ones I always use for painting and staining projects when I visit, one size too big and soft beyond soft from wear, spattered with various shades of wood stain, the deck of the neighbor’s bus, the porch posts of my man’s house.

What I am taking home is crammed into my suitcases and my computer bag, headed back to Napa after four weeks away. Bulging is an understatement. Heavy is a gross understatement. The temptation of a third suitcase, full of frozen, dried and jarred salmon is met with sheer practicality. Alone, managing three suitcases at nearly 12:00 midnight, when I am due to land, then having to make my way to the bus and to long-term parking, then to load them into my car and make my way the additional hour and a half home, to then have to unload them into the freezer. With my alarm set for tomorrow morning at 5:00 AM, it is just more than I can bear. I do manage one generous Ziploc of dried salmon strips in my purse. Double bagged. They are quite aromatic!

Quietly, early for a Sunday, we make our way to the airport. We arrive early, thankfully, because the line to check bags is moving incredibly slowly. At last, my bags are checked and I head for security. A brief goodbye, they are never long enough in my opinion, but that is probably for the best. He heads back to the car as I enter the short security line. Before I make it to the podium, I see him back out and drive away. And, as always, I fight back tears, more successfully this time than any time before. They are there, I just don’t let them out. Yet. My computer bag gets pulled off the conveyor at this airport, but never at LaGuardia, Logan, Newark, LAX, SFO, O’Hare, or Kennedy. Funny. But I am patient, the TSA folks are doing their job, and with all the electronics and cords I carry, I can only imagine what my backpack must look like in the x-ray. I have actually been conducting an ongoing experiment, unwittingly, mostly out of forgetfulness, but, still, for months, and probably nearly 60,000 miles of travel on four different airlines through, likely, a dozen different airports, I have had a bottle of eye drops in my computer bag and a bottle of mouthwash in my purse. Undetected. So I am actually relieved when my bag garners some scrutiny, and yet, the eye drops and mouthwash go, again, undetected, even with a “thorough” inspection. My shoes and my cardigan back on, my computer bag zipped up once again, I go to the coffee stand and buy a coffee and a yogurt. I’m not hungry, my stomach is actually quite unsettled, either from too much wine last night, too little sleep, or just trepidation. Maybe all three. I put the yogurt in my purse for later, I’ll eat it on the plane, in coach. I have window seats both flights and an eight-hour layover in Seattle, which just makes the dreaded trip home seem that much worse. An eight-hour layover! Another reason the suitcase full of fish may have been a less than fantastic idea. I sit, without thought, waiting for the boarding announcement. I pay very little attention to what is going on, I just sit.

I do hear an announcement from the gate agent, for those with flexible travel plans, a voucher for this overbooked flight and a later flight out. I am alert once again and run for the counter. I show the agent my ticket and tell her if I can make the connection in Seattle, I would be happy to rearrange my flight. My name is added to a list. The boarding announcement comes and I am asked to wait to see whether they’ll need my seat. I am just a little “anal” about boarding at the earliest opportunity, I like to claim my wee bit of overhead bin compartment territory for my computer bag. My oversized purse fits snugly under the seat in coach, and there is no room for both under the seat. I’m a rather particular traveler. Travel is a very large part of my life, I seek to move through this world with ease and as much comfort and convenience as I can secure for myself. So, to miss my boarding opportunity makes me a bit edgy, it had better be for good reason.

At long last, it is determined that my seat can be given to a young lady who is traveling with her grandparents. I am happy to forfeit it, and, in exchange, I receive a $400 voucher good for a ticket to anywhere Alaska Airlines flies, like right back to where I’m standing now. The agent is tapping madly at the keyboard and revealing no expression whatsoever on her face, I can’t tell if she is making any progress in rebooking my travel. I DO have to make it home in time to teach early tomorrow morning, I DO have to make that 9:30 PM connection in Seattle. Finally, she looks up, makes eye contact, and then smiles. The only seat available for me on the later flight to Seattle is first class. Oh, darn. It is 8:30 AM, my new flight leaves at 2:00. And I only have a one-hour layover in Anchorage and two in Seattle. Darn. I hate when that happens. Not. Upgrade. Upgrade. Upgrade.

I take my voucher and my new tickets and text my man to tell him I gave up my seat on the morning flight. He turned around and picked me up out front and we spent the next few hours strolling through the Georgeson Botanical Gardens at University of Alaska, Fairbanks, one of our favorite pleasures that we hadn’t taken the time to enjoy during this visit. We grabbed a quick breakfast at Sams’ Sourdough Cafe and finished our time together browsing through Gulliver’s Books in town. Just those few bonus hours made all the difference in the world. Cherished time.

Back at the airport, a few hours later, I made my way through security. My bag got pulled off the conveyor, again, and I smiled. I like consistency. And, again, the eye drops and mouthwash go undetected.

I flew to Anchorage, in first class. Is it bad when you begin to recognize flight attendants and crew members on more than one airline? I was fortunate enough to be on a plane with Woody Woodhouse piloting. I’ve flown with Woody before. Woody is an “old school” pilot, he speaks clearly, and loud enough to be heard, he loves his job, he loves Alaska, and he wants to share. One part of Alaska that Woody is particularly in love with is Mt. McKinley, the highest peak in North America at 20,320 feet. Woody somehow manages to fly the plane, while narrating, within what looks like mere feet of the peak, first so the people seated on the left side of the plane can get up close and personal with the mountain, then he turns tightly and the people on the right side of the plane get to get personal with the mountain. Last time I flew with Woody, my camera and iPhone were buried deep inside my carry-ons and I couldn’t grab them quickly enough. This time, I was ready! With both!

We landed shortly after we buzzed past McKinley, with just enough time in Anchorage for a quick porter at the Silver Gulch Brewery in the airport there where I chatted with a jolly woman who’d been to Beerfest at Silver Gulch in Fairbanks just the night before, as had I, sort of. I flew first class, again, to Seattle where, with my two-hour layover, I had just enough time for a quick flight of wine and some lively conversation with other traveling wine enthusiasts at Vino Volo.

In a state of travel induced exhaustion, I collected my luggage in Sacramento, grateful to have only two suitcases to wrestle onto the bus and then into my car, where there already was a box of my “career clothes” and a third suitcase, left from my brief parking lot visit between my flight from Newark and my flight to Anchorage over two weeks ago. I cram my suitcases into the backseat, marvel at the total and complete darkness of the sky, and make my way home. I arrive at 2:00 AM, huck my luggage upstairs, set up my computer and training materials for morning and find my way to bed. As I turn off the light, the darkness feels oppressive, almost as though it has weight and volume and I struggle to fall asleep. Finally I do, about the time my alarm jolts me back into the reality of “my world”. I am not ready to face it, but I do, I must, and I plough through, with thoughts of that $400 travel voucher safely tucked in my wallet and I begin to plan what I will do with it.



Georgeson Botanical Gardens UAF
Georgeson Botanical Gardens UAF
Georgeson Botanical Gardens UAF
Georgeson Botanical Gardens UAF
Caribou near the Georgeson Botanical Gardens UAF
Caribou near the Georgeson Botanical Gardens UAF

An Effort to Evolve

Georgeson Botanical Gardens UAF
Georgeson Botanical Gardens UAF
Georgeson Botanical Gardens UAF
Georgeson Botanical Gardens UAF
Breakfast at Sam's Sourdough Cafe
Breakfast at Sam’s Sourdough Cafe


Mt. McKinley, courtesy of Alaska Airlines pilot Woody Woodhouse
Mt. McKinley, courtesy of Alaska Airlines pilot Woody Woodhouse


A quick porter at the Silver Gulch Brewery location at Anchorage International Airport.
A quick porter at the Silver Gulch Brewery location at Anchorage International Airport.


A flight between flights at Vino Volo at SEA-TAC
A flight between flights at Vino Volo at SEA-TAC


Power outlets!!! At Vino Volo, SEA-TAC! Almost as welcomed as the wine!
Power outlets!!! At Vino Volo, SEA-TAC! Almost as welcomed as the wine!



IMG_8455I travel. A lot. I travel for work. A lot. And I travel for pleasure. A lot. When you travel, a lot, it becomes a way of life. As I write this, it is 9:30 in the morning and I’m at an airport bar having a mimosa and a turkey, spinach and brie omelet. I love airport bars. The food is usually mediocre, excepting the plate before me now, but the people watching and conversation is usually fantastic. Strangers have so much in common, so much to talk about.

Is it bad that I have been to nearly every Vino Volo airport wine bar in the country? That I know where to find decent food in just about any U.S. airport, if decent food can be had, and that I book my layovers accordingly? Is it bad that there is a bartender at a wine bar at Chicago O’Hare that works at 6:00 AM who recognizes me and knows I like sparkling wine? Is it telling that I know how every domestic air carrier boards their planes and select my seat accordingly, because I want to be among the first on the plane because, even though I don’t have a roller-board suitcase, I’d like to stow my computer bag overhead rather than underfoot? Is it bad that I can consistently and expertly pack my checked bag to precisely 49.5 pounds in order to take all I wish to, without incurring additional baggage fees? This is how I roll.

So, I’m a road warrior. All the folks on my team are road warriors, too. I’m on my way to a “team meeting” in Austin, Texas. Since we are all “remote” employees and don’t report to a specific office, we are scattered all over the continental U.S. We only see each other once or twice a year. There are several new team members I have “worked with” on projects and web training sessions that I have never met face to face. I’ll meet them today. During our team meetings, we often discuss travel, it’s such a large part of what we do. We all have our own methods and practices. We are very particular, but that may have more to do with the fact that we are all accountants, by profession, and tend to be rather, shall we say, “detail oriented”. We’re sort of a fussy lot!

I have one fashionable, female co-worker who can pack for two weeks of international travel in one carry-on using a very elaborate rolling rather than folding method of packing.I have another team member who brings her own sheets when she travels because she has a phobia about the cleanliness of hotel sheets. Another who always has two suitcases, one solely for shoes. No pun intended. I have another co-worker who buys incredibly cheap luggage from Wal-Mart and is always replacing suitcases, mid-trip. Another who can fit everything required for a week into a single, very small, soft-sided duffel bag. He is heterosexual and not very well dressed, and I’m not making an association there, just a coincidental observation, I’m sure.

On travel methods, mine have evolved over the course of the five years I have been trippin’. I have duplicates of things like deodorant, floss, my razor, toothpaste and toothbrush. I just leave one set in my suitcase and one set in my bathroom. I actually have some items in triplicate, and leave the third set in my backpack, though,sadly, I haven’t been on a trek in a while. My suitcase maintains temporary residency in my bedroom, it doesn’t have a permanent storage place anywhere else in the house. I don’t really, ever unpack. During my busy season, I pretty much just show up at home once a week, sometimes for a less than a day, to collect my mail and do laundry, to make sure the key still fits the front door. Once, I was home for such a short time that I went home, did my thing, slept for a moment, and returned to the airport for the next week’s journey and got the same, exact, parking spot! I keep my “work clothes” in my suitcase. When I come home from a business trip, I wash my work clothes, usually the instant I arrive home, even if it’s 3:00 AM. When they’re dry, back in the suitcase they go. The only thing that has complicated this, recently, is my increased pleasure travel. I now must remove my super conservative work wear from my suitcase and replace it with my more flashy, fun wear. Those frumpy accountant clothes look so foreign hanging in my closet!

I used to be so George Clooney from “Up in the Air”. I was all about carry-on and traveling light and timed trials through the security line, about moving through the airport, the world and life according to the itinerary and with the most speed and efficiency possible. I dressed accordingly, with slip on shoes, a pullover rather than a cardigan that requires removal in security, no jewelry, nothing at all that may set off the scanner. I had an expertly packed 3-1-1 bag, bulging at the seams because it had to have shampoo, conditioner, mouthwash, lotion, and all liquid components of my makeup for the better part of a week.

Why speeding through security was so important, I don’t know, because I always arrive at the airport hours before I need to. Remember, I hate stress and I rather like airports, for people watching and for giving me some “me time”, like right now, where I can write with leisure and with little interruption. Other than by the flirtatious bartender with his Boston accent and Boston stories. The game is on the television and it’s opening day for baseball, and it’s the Red Sox and the Yankees. I don’t have the heart to tell him I’m a Yankees fan. I digress.

I traveled light and all carry-on for a few years. It was just about two years ago, after a team meeting in Chicago, that I changed my ways. I had to fly my least favorite airline for that trip. When you are all carry-on and you’re flying an airline you don’t have status with, there is considerable stress about securing adequate overhead space for you  roller bag, somewhat proximate to your seat, especially if you have tight connections and you need to exit the plane to board the next in a short timeframe. This was the case  this particular flight. It was so incredibly stressful! When I finally arrived in Chicago, at the hotel, I met a coworker in the elevator. I had my little roller bag, zipper straining as it tenuously held all the things I needed for the next week within it’s confines. My coworker wheeled two huge, I mean grotesquely huge, suitcases onto the elevator. We sized each other’s luggage up. I must have had a raised eyebrow, I can’t help it, my eyebrows are autonomous, they do whatever they want, I have no control over them, and they are very, very expressive! He explained to me, without a prompt of any sort, that he packs for comfort. If he is going to be on the road 70% of the time, he is traveling in style and in comfort. A lightbulb went off. An incandescent one, I prefer those, I just can’t picture one of those funky looking fluorescent lightbulbs as an “idea bubble”. I digress. Again.

Why was I trying to cram my life into a carry-on suitcase, compromising my comfort and, well, my quality of life, while on the road. Upon returning home, I purchased myself a generously sized, purple suitcase. I am very particular about my suitcases, they have to have the 360 degree, spinny wheels. Four of them. I was actually able to find a suitcase exactly like my carry-on roller bag, Just way bigger. Score. And I will admit, these days, I often bring both, and check them both. There is just something so incredibly liberating about leaving your baggage with some overly made up clerk in one city and having it meet you three flights later, clear across the country. And that’s usually how it goes. And I get to watch everyone else on the plane jostle and fidget and fight over overhead compartment space. I’ve got a computer bag and a purse. I’m weightless. I lie. My computer bag may way more than my big suitcase, but I’m a backpacker, so I am really just training for my next trek.

So I’ve got the whole luggage thing figured out to my benefit and satisfaction. I have everything I need in my generously sized purple spinny wheeled monstrosity of a suitcase; I have room for work clothes, for play clothes, for more than one pair of shoes, or even boots, for workout clothes and workout videos, an adorable, silver knife, fork and spoon set, a microwave-safe bowl, with lid, a miniature screwdriver set,  just in case I have to rebuild a computer while away from home, which I have done a few times this year alone, a multi-wrench, I’m not sure why. I carry my own Starbucks coffee, green and chamomile tea, crushed red pepper packets, coffee mug, reusable water cup with straw, wine bottle opener. The beer bottle opener I actually keep on my keychain for speedy accessibility, you just never know when an impromptu micro-brew is going to present itself, in need of rapid opening.

Second mimosa. It’s going to be a very long day. Good grief, I hope that screaming child isn’t going to be on my flight. It’s Monday, right? Chances are …

Let’s talk about security. As I mentioned, I used to be all about speeding through security, dressing for the utmost efficiency. I traveled with a very low profile; precision packed carry-on, no clothing that required removal, like jackets, sweaters, scarves. I wore slip on shoes with socks, socks that were warm enough to keep my ankles warm on an over-air conditioned flight, which, by the way, is a pretty ugly fashion statement, if you think about it. My M.O. has evolved, here, too. I wear whatever the #$%@ I want! I look like the person you don’t want to be behind in security. I have knee-high, zip up boots, a scarf, a cardigan. I have bling on my jeans and jewels on my shirt. I have tons of jewelry. But I never, ever, ever have anything in my pockets. When I travel, now, I dress like I normally do! I have a big ol’ backpack with not one, but two laptops; one for work, one for life. I have an iPad, and iPod, a Kindle and a Jawbone Jambox stereo complete with a sub-woofer. I have my own wi-fi system. I have two cell phones, again, one for work, one for life. And I have cords for all of it. It’s like Best Buy in a backpack! I laugh when I see the X-ray image of my backpack! It looks like a bomb! And it has only been pulled off the conveyor for inspection once. I am, in spite of first impressions, exceedingly efficient getting through security. In the twelve linear feet it takes to proceed from the agent who checks my ID and boarding pass to the conveyor, I go into a kung-fu hero-like maneuver and have my ID back in the correct sleeve in my wallet, my wallet and boarding pass in their proper spot in my purse, my scarf and cardigan or jacket are off and stashed into my enormous purse and my boots are off and in the bin with my purse, ready to be placed on the conveyor. I like having an enormous purse in which the scarf and cardigan or jacket will fit, so it isn’t flopping around in the bin on the conveyor and I can bring them out only if I’m cold on the plane. Which is likely. I have a scan-safe bag, so I don’t have to remove my laptops, and it only takes a few seconds for the TSA agents to pat down my butt and my boobs for my bling and jewel bedecked clothing. I can get through security, so encumbered, more quickly than most people take to place their ID back in their wallet. I will not compromise comfort or style for TSA, or anyone else. Period. End of story.

Like much in my life, my travel style has evolved to suit my needs. And like most things in life, what works for one may not work well with others. As a seasoned traveler, my only advice is, check the TSA requirements before you pack. There’s even an app for that, now! Arrive at the airport early enough to eliminate stress and start your trip off on a the right foot, like a cup of coffee or a glass of wine. Don’t be grumpy and just go with the flow. Many things that happen, like delays, are going to happen no matter how upset you are about it, it is so not worth the temper tantrum. Relax, and enjoy! The airport and your flight are the first part of your trip, make it the best you can so the entire memory of your trip will be pleasant. Go with the flow and just be trippin’!

So now I’m on the plane, my bags stowed, ready to go. But, you know, I’m that person the flight attendant is going to have to remind to turn off my laptop and cell phone. Sorry.  I’m just trippin’.