When I was in high school, I was the kid who packed every book she could possibly fit into her backpack. I’d walk around school needing 18 extra inches of clearance behind me, wobbling under 70 or so pounds of books. (At least, it felt like it.) I loved going to college and being able to pack books for only one course, and the feeling of my slim Timbuktu bag slung over my shoulder was my symbol of freedom from the strictures of three-minute breaks between class periods.

Now that I’m back in grad school, and biking four miles to get to school every day, I’ve pulled out a trusty REI backpack and begun carrying everything I need for the day in there. Folders, planner, laptop, textbooks, lunch, a clean shirt: once it’s all in I again look like the overeager high schooler who wants to be prepared if her World History teacher wants to point out a map on page 463 of the textbook. Add to that the need to bring things like a study Bible (which answers the question: what would the Bible look like if every verse had a footnote?), and you come to a picture of me biking up the hills of Berkeley, fighting the downward momentum of my ridiculous backpack.

The bike ride takes about a half hour, which means getting up at what I formerly considered ungodly times to get to my 8:10 a.m. classes. It also means I try to wake up as late as possible in order to maximize sleep, so I’m usually rushing in the mornings and throwing things in my backpack at the last possible minute.

The first week of grad school was a little overwhelming — learning my schedule, getting to know my professors, coming to the dawning realization that there was no way I’d ever get all the reading I was assigned done. The stress, and the lack of sleep, had me exhausted and frazzled on the first Friday of classes as I got ready for school. We had our “Mass of gathering,” or opening Mass of the school year that day, and so I packed a dress and some nice black shoes in my backpack to change into once I got to school.

As my roommate and I sat down for our first class, panting and sweating, I opened my bag. Sitting on top was one Birkenstock and one black high-heeled shoe. In my rush to get out the door, I grabbed two black shoes, and wasn’t concerned with the minor details after that. Such as whether my shoes were the same height.

But the sudden absurdness of it made me laugh. I pulled out my shoes to show Sara, my roommate, and she laughed, too. I realized the ridiculousness of feeling so rushed, and resolved to give myself the time I needed to adjust to this new lifestyle. Sara later went home and brought back the lonely other halves of my two pairs of shoes, and I stood tall and even as I sang in the choir for our Mass of gathering. I breathed deep, looking at the many faces I already recognized from my first week of class. And I know that the reading will pile up, my backpack will continue to weigh me down, and sleep may become scarce and precious. But I know that I’ll at least give myself the time to really look at what I carry with me along the way, to make sure it’s necessary and useful and not cluttering my life with its absurdity.

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