My backpack

As I was driving this morning at the beginning of what was my first day of full-time employment since my daughter was born nearly two years ago, I looked over at my backpack in the passenger seat. I started thinking about all of the places that backpack has been. 

I don't know exactly when I bought the backpack, but I know it was when we lived in Wyoming (at least six years ago, but probably more.) I think my backpack would be very interesting from both an anthropological and a microbiological perspective because of everywhere it has been and because of all the things it has contained over the years. It has been in the dirt on countless mountains in Wyoming and Montana. It has sat on the floors of waiting areas and bathrooms in a dozen airports. It has been deposited on the "fragrant" ground in souks and marches in Morocco. It has gone sightseeing in Europe. It has contained bags of cheap, fresh produce in Morocco; textbooks in Kentucky; and my work computer and iPad in Alaska. 

My backpack is, I think, the only possession that I have made such consistent use of over so many years and in so many places. Germophobes reading this blog post are probably cringing at the thought of what must by growing in my backpack at this point. I used to be one of you. But now I just feel sort of...well, wistful thinking about all of the microbes my backpack has come in contact with. I feel like it has lived many lives, and that I have, too. Since getting married over 13 years ago, I have lived the lives of graduate student (twice!), hurricane evacuee, professional college teacher, world traveler, mother, and (now) speech therapist. The backpack hasn't been with me through all of this, but it's been there a good chunk of the time. 

I just can't help but wonder what its next adventure will be.