Escalation

I officially have a Bag Problem. Anyone who's ever been intimate with me for more than 7 minutes figures this out pretty quickly. It's not the sort of shrill girly bag/shoe fetish that is tediously replayed in SATC and the kind of chick lit novels with kitten heels or stilettos on their pink covers -- it's not about brands, or look, or status. And I can't quite wrap my head around the idea of "wearing" a bag, which is how the people in stores talk when I'm caressing a new contender. But I am constantly scanning for the perfect bag, the bag that will hold everything I need and nothing more, transform me into someone at once Prepared and Organized and Uber-funky. ArtsyGirlGuideConsultant.

I keep my bags on a sort of bag banana tree in my kitchen/office. A quick glance at this ever-expanding bunch makes it pretty damn clear that if the search for the perfect bag is the search for the iconic talisman of my desired identity, I'm pretty confused. There's the teeny yellow pockety bag
that is too flimsy to hold even my wallet, but which has a funky little inset on it,and the recently added purple Village bag from Roots. I bought this one in Westboro in Ottawa, abandoning my sister trying on yoga tops at Lululemon (her own yummy mummy identity, I guess :-)) -- and it's a bit ... momish. It's perfectly practical, and I have this hope that the purple is distinct enough from the more classic tribe brown leather to go beyond GirlGuide... but I doubt it.

The bag thing isn't just about handbags and purses and all that sort of thing. It's also workbags:



And even more intensely, travel bags:



Sometimes this need for the perfect bag comes together in a crazy trifecta, like my purchase of the new MEC pulley mid-size travel bag, a small brown Roots purse and a tan soft leather tote bag for my trip to Italy.

I know what happens when I feel this compulsion. I see a bag, and I instantly get this sensation of things slotting into place, like I like to fondly imagine the hadron collider whacking together with the perfect magnetic attraction. I envision the perfect lipstick, the perfect pen (let's not even explore how long I can play with a wall of pens in an office store), my phone, my juggle of keys, my computer, my knitting -- everything all nestled perfectly into the perfect spot. It's a mythic story about being Whole and Ready -- and yet, Interesting, Creative, Impulsive.

This bag thing can get expensive, and the bag banana tree is actually a bit of a reproach. I mean, I still grab my rust-coloured mandarina duck bag I bought in Florence when it's the perfect size and colour for what I'm wearing (and I realize that my need for colour doesn't exactly align with my need for "the bag that suits every occasion and locale") -- but when the bags start to retreat into a layer or two below the surface, they kind of fade from my consciousness.

So right now, I'm staring at the bags, and making a connection. I've been agonizing about whether or not to sell my loft. The notion is to buy a smaller place here, so I have lower carrying costs, a smaller base, and can have a pivot point for a life that includes some work here, some work in Seattle and Vancouver, some possibly elsewhere. But it's really hard to figure out the right formula -- do I find a place first and then sell, on the assumption that it's going to be difficult to find a small place that suits me? Do I sell first in this market? Do I hold off on all of this until I'm really clear about my visa situation, what work I *can* do outside of TO? Right now I'm sort of in this weird space where I've racked up more than enough work in TO for the next six months, but I'm still working toward a more dispersed future. Different irons are roasting in different fires, but nothing is certain yet, except that F is moving to Seattle, and that's pretty much where I want to be too.

In all of this agonizing, I realized that there is a link between my quest for the perfect bag and this notion that there is the perfect small condo out there that will be the perfect pied a terre, where I can lead a life with everything in the right closet and the right office and I can always hop on a plane with only a carryon for two weeks. I'm afraid my bag problem is escalating, and that I have the notion that if I only had the perfect condo, my life would be perfectly organized.

I'm worried about this development. I can't keep buying condos until I'm miraculously a different, perfectly organized person.