Baggage not worth keeping

Ah, baggage. I'm not talking about the kind we store in the overhead compartment on a flight, I'm referring to the kind that keeps us from moving forward: emotional baggage. It's a word that is whispered behind our back; nobody wants to be known for having baggage. The truth is that at some point, most of us are hanging onto a few unnecessary items but unpacking baggage is a realistic possibility; one I highly recommend and recently learned to do.

At a comedy club a few weeks ago, my friend Kelly and I were seated behind the front table where a group of five generated a steady supply of amusing material for the comedian. The group consisted of two couples and one single friend. As the entire audience soon learned, one woman in the group was seated between her ex-husband, who had his arm stretched across the back of her chair, and her new husband with whom she was holding hands. Her ex-husband’s new wife was seated next to him on the other side, they were holding hands, and she brought along a friend to the show who sat on her other side. I would guess that everyone at that table was in their mid-forties and, personally, I found it a bit strange that they could tolerate a night out together. And then my college ex called this weekend, after two years of e-mail only communication, and my mind changed about that group.

He needed a friend and I offered to lend an ear over drinks; non-alcoholic just in case. I met him nine years ago. We were on-off for five years, lived together for one, and beyond being a career reference for him (he's a good guy despite our personal issues), haven't spoken or seen each other since he and my former best friend started dating. We were still living together then and technically we were broken up, but at the time it felt like our ending was similar to a bad made for T.V. movie where the main character realizes the two people she trusts most aren't exactly who they appear to be; enter my baggage.

My ex and I were in the same class for one semester of college. By the second day of class, he moved to a seat next to me and remained there the entire semester. It took him three months to ask me out and three months later we transferred to different colleges. He decided on a college in his hometown, Los Angeles, and I moved to the Bay Area where my major was offered as a B.S., not just a concentration attached to another major.

He proposed to me, in a drunken state, on our last day of classes. I said no, I was only 19 and he was 24, so instead we kept the relationship going with frequent trips north and south. He was introduced to my friends and family and I was introduced to his friends and family. We explored everything in Los Angeles together from the Getty Center to Venice Beach and up north we covered Tiburon to Big Sur. He moved north after college.

Enter my best friend from high school. A curvy, lively attorney who completed her undergraduate degree in three years, also lived in the Bay Area, and flirted with every guy I’d ever dated. I thought nobody I dated would fall for that and invited her everywhere with us. Then, he fell for it and her. Since we were broken up but living together, I had asked her not to pursue him until I moved out. It didn’t happen that way and I carried a chip on my shoulder for a good year, okay two, because of the sour ending. When he called me on Thanksgiving that year just to say hello, two months after he helped me move into my own apartment, I didn’t step outside for the rest of the afternoon.

Funny, then, how at present day I didn’t hesitate to be there for him when he called. She broke off their year-long engagement and I honestly was not happy, I was sad to hear the news. They made a good couple. Plus, I thought they were already married so it came as a surprise.

See, after that Thanksgiving I realized all I was doing was setting myself up for failure with self-pity, Haagen-Daz and the occasional switch to Ben & Jerry’s. There really was no reason for it, we clearly weren't right for each other and I was just holding onto the hurt and disappointment of how it ended. Emotions get the best of us sometimes but slowly and surely I began to heal. Bad memories faded, good ones remained, I got rid of the ice cream, started dating again and life resumed. I didn't even flinch at his call.

And I understand now how the group in the comedy club can enjoy, not just tolerate, an evening out together: by getting past that chip on the shoulder, or baggage, and moving on. I always considered my ex a very genuine and nice guy, it didn't seem fair to hold a grudge several years later because he wasn't the love I thought he would be; he was certainly the friend I knew him to be. So, I will take the time to show my support, or grab a drink and listen to him vent about his broken engagement, because some baggage is not worth keeping and his friendship is not worth losing. Consider my baggage unpacked.