Car keys, credit cards, hand lotion, face lotion, tissues to wipe off the lotions (apparently we're concerned about leaving a moisturizing trail), breath mints, medications, and nail clippers; these are only a few of the items we need with us when meeting friends for lunch.
My imaginary critic—known to regulars as Princess Amy—insists that "these aren't unnecessary items; they're preparation for life's uncertainties." Amy rides shotgun in my brain, my resident Minister of Doom, always ready with unhelpful observations like, "You'll regret not having tweezers when you get a splinter in line at the post office."
Specialized Essentials
The list of essential items grows exponentially depending on personal concerns. The truly prepared among us—and I'm not judging, merely observing—insist on carrying umbrellas, all-in-one tools, a toothbrush, or wordle books in case of an attack of boredom. Heaven forbid we take an elevator without wi-fi and no puzzle book handy.
I have a friend who behaves as though civilization may collapse during her trip to the grocery store. This isn't theoretical; I've witnessed her unpack her bag to find a bandage for a paper cut, producing enough supplies to stock a modest field hospital.
This compulsion to be perpetually prepared creates a secondary problem: The psychological burden of carrying a smartphone that contains all our banking information and pay apps.
And it doesn’t end there. We need something to carry all these things. Hence the proliferation of backpacks, messenger bags, duffels, satchels, and totes. Some purses now rival carry-on luggage in size and capacity. I've seen people nearly topple over from the gravitational pull of their own accessories.
Rather than simplifying, we've literally added weight to our daily existence. The physical burden is evident in hunched shoulders and strained expressions of passersby. We're "essentially" turtles, carrying everything we need with us; but our shells are made of canvas and contain hand sanitizer.
My Downsizing Experience
I attempted to solve this problem for myself by minimizing it—simply tucking my credit card and driver's license into my front pocket and deciding to carry a cross-shoulder bag for my other necessities.
Immediately, I felt unburdened, lighter, and more agile—ready to leap into action should any emergency arise while purchasing stamps or shopping for fiber supplements. Amy remained suspiciously quiet during this experiment, which should have been my first warning.
Practicality quickly took over when I nearly lost the credit card between the pharmacy and the coffee shop. I calculated the probability distribution of where I might have dropped it ultimately decided to simply retrace my steps.
If not for honest strangers—a concept Princess Amy finds statistically improbable—my simplification experiment might have proved costly.
Recently, I decided to compromise with reality. I calculated through sophisticated algorithms (counting on fingers) that the traditional leather back-pocket wallet must go, replaced by one of those thin, streamlined wallets with just enough compartments to hold actual necessities.
It's a bright idea—but finding one thin enough is more complicated than I imagined. Apparently, the age of thin and streamlined is over. Plus-sized is in vogue today.
Need I say that this wallet-hunting expedition has become its own circular journey? I keep looking for the solution but, so far, nada. I'm still contemplating my next move. Do I give up? Do I design my own minimal wallet? Does the determined minimalist ever give up? Of course not.
I haven't completely given up on finding the perfect item. Something a little larger than a credit card, driver's license, and medical insurance card. If you have any suggestions please leave them in the comments. Until then, I'll wear shirts with button-down pockets and keep my goods there.
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