At least once a year I have to go backpack shopping and it’s a bit fraught. Concerns like size, cost, shape, how much it can hold, how it hangs on the shoulder, and of course esthetics all swim around in my head and make something that should be fun not very.
A bag is so personal, too. It’s something I carry with me every day. It’s gotta last, it’s gotta hold books, maybe even a computer, all without killing my spine. My spine has opinions that if I fail to plan for means my spine will wreak its terrible vengeance on me for weeks following. Oh yes, I pay attention to Mr. Spine these days, which is why I’ve been backpacking for several years now.
My old backpack was technically fine. It wasn’t falling apart, but it was designed for someone a foot taller then me and twice as strong. It’s large enough to heft a hard-core computer around but also had a bunch of front pockets that stick out like turtles on top of ever larger turtles. What ended up happening was that the bag became lopsided, with all my small things front-loaded and literally pulling me backwards with every step. Plus, the bigger the bag, the more I’ll stuff inside. Like a goldfish expanding to the size of the tank. But, with my junk.
Mr. Spine assured me that this was not tenable in the long run. Something smaller, it asked with a warning twinge between my shoulder blades, that fits close to the back. Please and thank you.
So a-shopping I did go. How hard is it to find a cute, not too big, well-made utilitarian backpack? SUPER HARD. Store after store. Option after option. Too military, too frou-frou. Too big, too small. Too friggin’ expensive, but that’s what I get for trying to shop in downtown Vancouver.
I had just about given up. With my old lumpy, too-big backpack dragging on my shoulders, I headed home. On my way, I passed one of those discount tourist luggage and bag shops that are everywhere here, windows plastered with sale signs.
Went in, wandered around. Past the Canadian tchotchkes, the flags and moose and maple syrup, it was all standard issue square backpacks. No laptop pockets, no multiple storage options, nothing that really stood out as something that checked all the boxes.
And then I saw it, up on the top hook well out of reach.
A cutie owl backpack.
I stared at it, drawn to its adorable gravity. I couldn’t. I would be taking this backpack everywhere. The office I work at, nerdy it might be, is still the most grownup office I’ve worked at. These were cute owls with big eyes and bright patterns, all in different pastel colors. It’s not professional, it’s the wrong shape, the straps aren’t that great. I can’t!
But it’s … so cute!
With a firm mental no, I stalked around the store some more. If that backpack could theoretically work, maybe there was another backpack that would. Something professional. Whatever that meant. Of course, every other backpack looked even crummier than it did the first time by comparison. I looked at brown ones, blue ones. Ones with no pattern, ones with wishbone, or faux leather detail.
Every time I looked up, I saw the owl backpack high on its hook looking so perfect.
Stop it, Stephanie, I almost said out loud. It’s not professional.
The owl backpack just hung from its hook. Perfection. Hoo. Hoo.
I bought it. I’m pretty sure I was blushing. I made jokes with the woman behind the counter about how silly it was, the bag, but how I really loved it anyways. I excused the purchase by saying I would use it just for non-work days. How that would really work is not seriously thought out because transferring all my crap between bags would be nothing but impractical shenanigans from beginning to end.
Walked home with the biggest smile. I loved that owl backpack. Didn’t hurt that I’ve always loved owls, or that in my home town the local chapter of NaNoWriMo chose the owl as its mascot, or that when I went away to Viable Paradise, one of my best buds in my writing group crocheted the cutest little owl to take with me.
Before I even got home, I decided it would be my regular, everyday backpack, because I loved those damn cute owls. And I was prepared for snarky remarks, laughter, or even faint frowns of disapproval. I was ready, man! Hit me!
What did I get?
Nothing but complements. And often, complements from delighted strangers, compliments that I don’t think even they themselves would ordinarily make, sounding so surprised in shared, secret delight. For a nerdish minute, we’re both smiling, and I say thank you.
So. What do you talk yourself out of that would bring you joy?
Go do it.
(I write this on the cusp of having to replace the Owl Backpack, as I’ve had to repair the straps and as the bottom starts to wear away to nothing. It breaks my heart! Next bag is going to be a Bag of Holding, which will still be nerdy, if a little more subtle. I did, however, see a scarf the other day in a shop that has the exact same artwork as the backpack … so … we’ll see.)