People love to play that hypothetical game of “If you could only carry one thing with you..” And usually, it’s practical stuff. Wallet. Keys. Cell phone. The classics.

But here’s the thing. Wallets are becoming quaint relics, like cassette tapes and handwritten directions. My phone can now pay for coffee, unlock my car, and apparently identify constellations (if only it could also fold my laundry). So wallet? Optional.

Umbrella? Tempting. But every time I carry one, the sun comes out just to mock me. And the moment I don’t have one, it rains like the universe is staging a dramatic breakup scene.

EpiPen? Absolutely non-negotiable. That’s not a “thing I carry,” that’s a “thing that carries me.” Chapstick? Sure, because cracked lips are the silent assassins of confidence.

But the real must-have? My dignity. And no, it doesn’t fit neatly in a handbag. It’s the way I carry myself into a room, even on days I feel like a crumpled receipt. It’s choosing not to explain myself to people who have already decided they don’t understand me. It’s keeping my boundaries intact, even when I’m tempted to people-please.

And dignity has a twin. That of an unweighted shoulder. I’m not schlepping the whole world around with me anymore. Not everyone’s chaos is my chaos. I’ll help where I can, but I’m not checking my own luggage so I can carry someone else’s emotional trunk set.

And if I could sneak in one more essential? A sense of humor. Because even dignity needs comic relief. The ability to laugh at myself, at life, at the absurdity of it all is the thing that makes the load lighter. It’s also the thing that stops me from becoming a grumpy walking TED Talk.

So yes, my purse might hold a phone, an EpiPen, Chapstick, and maybe a rogue receipt from 2018. But the most important things I carry can’t be swiped, zipped, or misplaced. They live in the way I move through the world: upright, light-shouldered, and grinning just enough to confuse people.