My backpack contains all that I have lost, and never can recover.
The sheer volume of the contents is only surpassed by the weight each provided in the metaphoric instability of my life.
I should carry the contents for the entire world to see, and one special person to realize I do believe the non-tangibles of life indeed have value greater than the price at which I sold them.
In order of discovery, my backpack contains:
How I lost my way. Whether it was through life or a single day, my decisions have not amounted to anything one would recognize as successful.
How I lost my virginity. Offered at a discount, combined with underage beer goggles, the entire experience was not worth the effort given or the notoriety acquired.
How and when I lost my dignity. Another fiasco predicated on a dare, tequila, and the advent of VHS tape. Greatness thrives in the memory of the impressed. Stupidity lurks forever beneath a thin veneer of respectability.
How I lost my childhood. No one should eagerly accept the yoke of service for the pittance it remits to 9 year olds.
How I lost my hope. Twelve years old and still laboring at the same position.
How I lost time. I went to sleep last night at the age of 10. I awoke this morning nearly 50 years old. I have the memories of my history. However, I no longer have the memories of the time I spent collecting each.
How I lost my place while reading. Bookmarks are cheap and worth the price.
How I lost my nerve. I could have balked. I should have interrupted and spoke my mind when Elizabeth stood at the altar and took another as her husband.
How I lost my will. I had the chance to propose first. I had the opportunity to make her happy before she met him. I could have worked. If only . . .
How I lost my cookies (vomited). The anniversary of the last two events. Beats sour grapes, but tastes worse.
How I lost my heart when she broke it. Elizabeth cared for all hearts. My rebound to Elizabeth, her sister, Audrey, feasted on all hearts. Just because the last name is the same, does not insure the first feelings are.
How I lost my patience. I let 27 years elapse waiting for the perfect woman. None with these prerequisite credentials exists.
How I lost my cool. One bar, one bottle of tequila, and one too many sorrows told to one too many people who didn’t want to listen resulting in one too many punches and one too many police arriving.
How I lost my soul. The last refuge of a desperate man is to claim possession of that which he knows he lost first. Only in retrospect does one realize the true cost of a life poorly lived.
I now intend to keep my backpack closed forever. It has served its purpose well.
Andy Betz has tutored and taught in excess of 40 years. He lives in 1974, and has been married for 29 years. His works are found everywhere a search engine operates.