A Weighty Matter

When a friend recently asked, “can you hold my purse while I pop into the ladies room?” I did not know what I was getting myself into. I agreed far too quickly. I should have told her, “I have back problems.” I should have shared about the carpel tunnel in my hand.
I should have inquired as to its weight. How heavy can the purse of a five foot one senior citizen be? Pretty darn heavy. The 4 minutes she was gone might well have been 40.

I shifted the purse from one hand to the next, slung it over one shoulder, then over the other. I set it on the ground, every so briefly. I finally resorted to using the darn thing to get in a few arm curls. It has been weeks since I’ve been to the gym. Perhaps I can assuage my guilt by fitting in a little impromptu exercise.

We all have different comfort levels, when it comes to keeping our most precious possessions near. Some let their children roam the neighborhood, while others watch their every move. Some will loan their car to a friend, others just can’t bear to let go of the keys. Some must carry a purse brimming with personal items, as they go about their daily errands. Our ability to let go and lighten the load in life is indeed a weighty matter.

“This thing weights more than you,” I claimed when my friend emerged and the eternity ended. She agreed it was busting at the seams. When I suggested perhaps she downsize, she was of the opposite opinion. “I just need to buy something larger so I can redistribute the weight,” she stated.

Well, I guess that takes care of that.