Today Gabe is wearing a tan fleece, khaki pants, and brown boots.
This year Gabe and I opened Christmas presents early since we’re not going to be together on the actual holiday and, as predicted, Gabe knocked it out of the park.
You see, for years — and I mean, for like 12 years, since high school — I have been carrying around this bright red backpack that is pure garbage. It was old, it was beaten up, and it was so stretched out that even when it wasn’t completely full, it stuck out behind me by a good 2 feet. It was basically perfectly round.
It was covered in paint from my art major days. It had a lock attached to it that I can’t remove because I forgot the combination after locking it there 5 years ago when I used to take it to the gym with me in San Francisco.
I could barely stuff it under the seat in front of me on airplanes. I had to be careful when turning around with it on because I basically couldn’t avoid knocking heavily into people, pets, and fragile items.
It was just awful. And yet, for some reason, I couldn’t summon the energy or interest to buy a new one.
I knew I needed one, and I knew I could afford a new one. It’s not like a needed to buy a new car, or that backpacks weren’t readily available at stores, both online and in person, that I visit frequently.
And yet, the years wore on, and this fat red backpack followed me everywhere I went.
Until this week, when I received from Gabe, the world’s best gift-giver, a beautiful, sleek, balanced, strong, streamlined black backpack.
This is exactly what I was talking about last week! Gabe solved a problem that he knew was a problem that, when solved, would drastically improve my quality of life. A problem I couldn’t solve myself. And he solved it in a better way than I could have done myself.
So it was with great joy that I packed my beautiful, slim, not-paint-stained backpack to travel back home for the holidays.
Luckily I seem to have gotten over my sky fear that I got last time I flew home. I think the bag of Halloween sized Snickers bars that I packed for myself helped. And downloading Season 5 of The Walking Dead to watch the whole way there. So engaging. So bleak.
This weekend, with my holiday free time, I think I’m going to go to a coffee shop and start working on my copy of the spontaneously-purchased-so-now-I-guess-I-should-do-something-with-this Desire Map that I wrote about a few weeks ago. I’m not sure if I’m legally obligated to fill out my Desire Map at a fancy coffee shop, but judging by the trillions of women Instagramming pictures of their filled out Desire Maps next to beautiful, perfect lattes, I think I am supposed to do it that way if I want to achieve best results and a perfect future.