In my early 20s, I came home to find my sister Michelle packing for a trip to New Orleans. She was busy throwing earrings and lip glosses into a paper bag.
We did own a few suitcases. But she was gaily tossing odds and ends into a wrinkled, already-used-beyond-its-prime grocery sack.
“How ’bout these? Should I take them?” she asked of a pair of dangly feather earrings. She held them merrily up to her ears, cocked her head and smiled at me.
“Sure!” I said, peeking into her brown bag. There were three bandanas, a pair of shorts, some clean underwear and random bits of jewelry. This made me nervous.
“Don’t you want to pack a real bag? With some clothes?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m taking plenty,” she sighed. Michelle was never one for carting around extra baggage.
As she flitted about the room, I hastily stuffed a pair of jeans and a peasant shirt into the paper bag. This was truly unnerving.
“How long will you be gone?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Michelle replied, turning up the volume on our boom box. She danced about the room with a glow on her face, her eyes lit from excitement, a smile that spread across her face like a secret.
In a different time, my sister would’ve made a perfect gypsy. She had that gypsy soul, full of wanderlust and bravery … and a little bit of trouble.
“Well, you have to know when you’re coming back! What did you tell your work?” I fairly shouted.
“Hmmmmm,” was all she said. I stormed out of the room. But off my sister sauntered, calling from loud bars and street festivals along the way.
All these years later, I applaud my sister’s attitude. And I think we can take a lesson from it. Sometimes you just need to pack a flimsy bag, forget about preparation, and dive into things with your feather earrings dangling and your expectations at bay.
Sometimes, in our forever-busy-never-a-minute’s-rest lives, we need to go to “New Orleans,” if even for a day.
Past the age of twenty-something, we start to lose a bit of our spontaneity. Deciding not to show up at a job because you suddenly feel like going to the pool on a sunny afternoon in July won’t fly with most bosses or businesses. Gallivanting off to the mountains and missing your child’s pick-up after school would be inexcusable.
And skipping laundry and house cleaning on a regular basis? Yuck. But maybe we ought to plan a bit of spontaneity every now and then. We ought to pick a random Saturday or Sunday and just let things fly where they may. No soccer practices at 7 a.m to attend, no work projects seeping in, no e-mail checking, no chores and errands and to- do lists. Just a day that we haven’t really packed for.
And let it happen.
Siobhan Sprecace lives in Englewood.
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