The Plastic Bag Diaries

I saw a plastic bag. It was floating in the wind. And I remembered that part in American Beauty where she films the movie about the plastic bag and she says it’s one of the most beautiful things she’s ever seen. I’m driving down the road and I fight the urge to pull over and linger there for a while. I don’t. But, still it meanders in the back of my mind. All day- as I sift through paperwork and peck at my keyboard like a well trained chicken performing desk work rather than off tempo renditions of “Old McDonald” and “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.”


I can see it moving aimlessly. Its motions vary- sometimes it’s soothing and calm as it climbs up in the air, sighing as it draws the mouths of smiley faces on its way to the ground, but never settling completely. Other times, it skips jovially about on the pavement- a tap dance of sorts. I try my best to avoid running it over, more out of my longing to let it dance uninterrupted rather than the still-small voice of my mother in the back of my mind.

Never run over a plastic bag. It could get stuck under your car and melt to your engine.

Or muffler. Or exhaust. Or some other hot piece of metal down there. I only ever half listened to the statement anyhow.

As it disappeared underneath the body of my car, I held my breath. I looked in my rearview window, but saw nothing.

Oh, man. I killed it. It’s probably melting at this very moment.

My heart was breaking as it was melting. And maybe it seems silly to anyone else- getting so upset about a stupid plastic bag. But, it wasn’t just a bag. It was life. It was my life. So much of me existed in the journey that bag was taking. Floating aimlessly about with no sense of direction, just taking life as it came- every core of your existence relying on the next gust of wind or a car coming along to either thrust you in a new direction or put you out of your misery. It all seems so romantic. Quite lovely and mysterious. And maybe that’s a wonderful life for a bag. Or a hipster. Or a college student backpacking through Europe. But, not for me.

Just then, I saw an object emerge sharply from the back of my car. It moved in a squiggle towards the sky- an upside down question mark. It wasn’t dead. It hadn’t melted. It just took a little longer to get where it was going. Is it where it intended to be? Who knows? It’s a bag, so I’m guessing it had to pre-existing notions of exact location. But, there was the positive. There was the idea that would make the moment worth remembering- worth writing about. Sometimes it’s okay to be a little lost. It’s okay to not be 100% sure where you are, as long as you have some idea of where you’re going. Maybe you’ll get there when you planned. Maybe you won’t. But, I assure you, you will get there right on time. It won’t kill you. You will not melt. You’ll just be stronger.

As for me? I have to remind myself, too. So, don’t worry- if you’re lost, you aren’t alone.