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life doesn’t fit into a quart-size ziploc bag

May 25, 2010

I wish TSA knew this because I spent 15 minutes yesterday trying to make it happen. As much as I wanted my body wash and my astringent to fit into that quart-size ziploc bag along with all my other cosmetics for my five-day trip, they wouldn’t. All I could think was, Come on, close, close, as I tried to zip it shut, willing it all to fit. When I realized something had to go, all I could think was, It’s so ridiculous that I have to choose between my face lotion and my body wash just because someone somewhere decided that my not carrying more than a quart – size ziploc with all my liquids in containers of 3 ounces or less was somehow going to save lives. Wow.  Is it really that simple? Or am I missing something? It seems to me that profiling passengers instead of profiling my liquids might work a little better.

But it’s all okay. It’s the age in which I live. I can’t deny it or run from it and, many times, I feel completely powerless to change it in any small way. Although I know that NYC isn’t exactly Timbuktu and I’ll be in luck if I need to buy body wash, it’s the principle of the matter that stings. I want to take my body wash – should  be able to take my body wash – and 40 ounces of it if I wish. Passengers with quart-size ziplocs with their liquids in containers of 3 ounces or less didn’t prevent the Christmas Bomber from walking free and easy onto a commercial airliner. At least we all can say with confidence that the grandmother sitting to his left wasn’t carrying more than 3 ounces of Melaleuca in her carry on and the junior high girl to his right only had one tube of lip gloss instead of ten. I know that makes me feel better.

But I guess I sometimes take that approach to life, too. I sometimes try to work out solutions to problems that beat around the bush. They look PC and really good on paper, but they just don’t reach the heart of the matter. I try to fit it all neatly into a quart-size ziploc bag, but it’s not that simple. It just doesn’t fit, nor was it meant to. As much as I don’t want to admit that I’m beating around the bush with my solution, freedom comes when I admit that I am. Freedom and victory. When I skirt around who my real enemy is, what the real issue is, where the real source of a problem really lies, I remain in bondage…and I end up doing silly things like trying to make cosmetics for a five-day trip fit into a quart-size ziploc bag with all liquids in containers of 3 ounces or less.

Life doesn’t fit into a quart-size ziplock bag and I’m glad. Now if I could just convince TSA…


From → Personal, Travel

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