Whether I’m traveling across the oceans, across the country or across boroughs — my goal is to never bring more than I can carry. If I can’t schlepp it myself through the streets, in the subways, or to the airport, then it must not be important enough to bring with me!

The only times I’ve allowed myself exceptions to this rule is when I’ve moved somewhere for at least several months and could justify the hassle of bringing more baggage than I could carry — the three most notable exceptions have been moving to Uganda, spending the summer in Sierre Leone, and moving to New York City.

This last instance will forever stick in my brain as the quintessential big-city-girl moving to an even-bigger-city story. It was the end of August 2002 and New York was sweltering. I had taken a cab from JFK to an apartment on E. 96th Street & 2nd Avenue in Manhattan, where a friend was letting me stay until I found a place of my own. The cab driver heaved my two large duffels bags out of the trunk and on to the steaming sidewalk in front of the building. He sped off as soon as he got his tip, and I was left alone with all of my earthly belongings on a dirty street corner in front of a McDonald’s, a bodega, and a betting counter.

My duffel bags weighed at least 70 kilos each, and I had to drag them one at a time over to the doorstep where I fiddled with keys to the door. Some of the local guys hanging out at the bodega offered to help with my bags, but I politely declined (less out of pride and more out of a concern for safety). So, I hauled my two duffel bags, my laptop bag, and my backpack one-by-one up each flight of stairs to the 4th floor walk-up apartment. (Yes, if you’re familar with real estate in New York City, you know how important it is to distinguish between those buildings with elevators and those buildings without.)

I paused at each landing after dragging up one bag, breathing hard and dripping sweat, before heading down to drag up the next bag, until all of my bags were on the same landing. And then I started the process all over again, until I made it up all four flights with all of my belongings. It must have taken me nearly twenty minutes in the sweltering heat before I finished, and I made a racket of it, I’m sure.

I collapsed with relief once I made into the apartment, and that’s when my ideas about baggage really transformed from a general philosophy into a way of life!

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