Tiny Fragilities: What My Trip to the National Society of Newspaper Columnists Annual Conference Reminded Me About Life

It’s 2am, and a green mohawked Jew appears in the Birmingham, Alabama airport. She is very concerned. Her carry on luggage appears to still be in Miami, and her tears are just barely staying behind her waterline.

The third person is necessary here, because I still haven’t fully processed the experience I just had which revealed how fragile I really am. I have to come to terms with the fact that apparently, once I cross the 24 hour mark with underwear, I start to die.

You see, when my carryon bag was checked at the gate due to an oversold flight, I didn’t realize I was handing over my sanity. Eight pairs of underwear for a 3 night, 4 day trip. That’s apparently it, my sanity.

I literally had only the clothes on my back, and the folks at baggage claim weren’t optimistic about my luggage being found, let alone making its way to me in time for my presentation at the National Society of Newspaper Columnists.

So I began to die.

I managed to beg my Uber driver to stop at a 24-hour Walgreens, and I very quickly grabbed the essentials: deodorant, mascara, toothbrush, toothpaste and…….oh no…..on no. Underwear was on the shelf, but with one caveat. The only option was a 5 pack of panties 3 sizes larger than I normally wear. I felt my life slip away just a little bit more in that moment. But, as it was 2am in Birmingham, I didn’t really have a choice.

Laying in bed that night, I worried that should I actually die in my sleep, the authorities would find a mostly naked woman with extremely oversized underwear on, and report these details to my husband, who would likely be concerned. It might affect his perception of me, at least.

The next morning, I wore the clothes I traveled in, and trekked out towards the nearest Alabama shopping plaza. I had a presentation to deliver to published authors, award-winning journalists and Pulitzer Prize Winners, after all, and I needed to at least wear appropriately sized underwear. And definitely not wear the stale, day-old travel clothes I had on.

As silly as it is, not having access to clean, well-fitting underwear revealed how close to the edge I apparently was. And I had no idea I was living like that! Every single day!

After sharing my saga at the conference (I assure you, I will complain and lament about this incident as long as I live) I started to hear other stories in return.

Everyone seems to be this close to fragility in some way. For some people, it’s a pair of flat shoes (“If I can’t walk comfortably, I won’t leave the house!”), lipstick (“I’ve never gone a day without it!”), a phone (“If I can’t have some guaranteed way to reach my kids, I will turn around immediately!”), a comb (“I lost my comb on vacation once, and I was shocked at how much it ruined the trip for me!”) or a watch (“I’ve worn one every day since I was 10 years old, I feel naked and uncomfortable without one and it’s all I notice!”).

I think, as a thanatologist, that perhaps all of these ‘little fragilities’ are simply more-comfortable distractions from the actual fragility we all walk around with, every single day.

And that’s the big one, the capital D one—Death.

Fifteen minutes watching American News Media will show you multiple ways that life can end in an instant, and reveal with it all the social, economic and political issues that caused, led to, or contributed to those deaths.

Pair that with 2+ years of a global pandemic, which has only served to remind us not only of our fragility, but also of everyone else’s, and yeah, it makes sense that we’d freak out after not having clean underwear for more than a day.

Being at the conference in Birmingham, Alabama was wonderful. I spent time with incredible, accomplished, inspiring people. And all of us, we all share the giant fragility of being mortal and the medium fragility of living through a global pandemic. But those tiny fragilities? Those are specific to each person, and have the power to completely derail life for a bit. They show us that we’re fragile and that we’re alive. They also connect us to eachother, and serve as reminders that we have communities from which to draw support.

My tiny fragility of not having clean underwear—that’s actually a sign of life, a sign I haven’t seen in awhile. It’s a sign that I am back in the world a bit, flying again, going to conferences and hugging people. These are things I, like most others, lived without for the past 2 years. So when a tiny fragility takes you out, congratulations—you are alive.