I was chatting with Andre over lunch in a cafe with bad food about how men and women bring baggage (the emotional kind) into relationships.
My husband, Andre, grew up in a happy, loving family with no violent quarrels, separations, or divorces. Growing up, I witnessed all three and went through at least two relationships where my real self, tender and young as it was, was suppressed and did little for my self-esteem and identity in my early 20s.
I said, “It’s a good thing you didn’t have any baggage, ‘cuz I brought enough baggage into our relationship.”
He said, “I did have baggage.”
I said, “What baggage?”
“I don’t remember,” he shrugged.
And there perhaps lies the real definition of baggage: It’s all in the remembering.
Forgetfulness can be a good thing.