Tracey Carisch - Excess Baggage: One Familys Around-the-World Search for Balance

EXCESS BAGGAGE

Copyright 2018 by Tracey Carisch

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, digital scanning, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please address She Writes Press.

Published: 2018

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN: 978-1-63152-411-0 paperback

978-1-63152-412-7 ebook

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018935585

For information, address:

She Writes Press

1563 Solano Ave #546

Berkeley, CA 94707

She Writes Press is a division of SparkPoint Studio, LLC.

Interior design by Tabitha Lahr

All company and/or product names may be trade names, logos, trademarks, and/or registered trademarks and are the property of their respective owners.

Names and identifying characteristics have been changed to protect the privacy of certain individuals.

Dedicated to RJS and our Sad Country Fridays

If youre always trying to be normal, you will never know how amazing you can be.
Maya Angelou

Dear Reader,

This book is a true account of our familys travels through twenty-four countries over the course of eighteen months. I recreated events, locales, and conversations from my memories of them. In order to maintain their anonymity, in many instances I have changed the names of the individuals and organizations involved.

My husband, Brian Carisch, is a phenomenal amateur photographer. His photos from our adventure have been organized into a catalog which visually supports the storytelling in this memoir. To follow along with the imagery of our journey, please visit:

www.traceycarisch.com/photos

Finally, thank you for letting me share this adventure with you! As Ive written this book and given speeches about the lessons our family learned on our journey, Ive had the opportunity to connect with so many amazing people around the world. Please feel free to reach out on social media or through the web site to share your thoughts, feedback, and personal experiences. Id love to hear from you.

Sincerely,

Tracey Carisch

Inbox count: 596

Weekly errands: 23

Loads of laundry to fold: 4

Moments of joy and bliss: Data unavailable

H ands werent typing. Eyes werent scanning my inbox. Feet werent stomping up the schools concrete steps in the mad dash to pick up my kids from the aftercare program. For the first time since waking up, my body was motionless. Totally and completely still.

Warm spring air floated over my arms and reached down into my chest, filling me up like a balloon and pulling a sigh from my lungs. I leaned my head back against the patio chairs fat cushion and gazed up into the clear evening sky, where wispy pink clouds streaked across the atmosphere and a few bright stars twinkled through the darkening shades of blue.

The waitress brought my glass of pinot noir and set it on the table in front of me, but I didnt reach for it. Instead, I closed my eyes and relished the moment. Sitting. Breathing. Doing absolutely nothing.

What a glorious thing this is, I thought. I should do it more often.

And then the silence was broken, replaced with greetings and air kisses as a parade of friends began to arrive.

This place is adorable! How long has it been open?

Did you get your hair cut? It looks great!

Oooh... cute purse! Whered you find it?

It was exactly what I needed: an evening of zero obligations. No dirty dishes or homework drama or loads of laundry to fold. Just easy conversation with good friends who expected nothing of me, except to pass them the wine.

When the appetizers had been ordered and everyone had a glass in hand, one friend asked the group in her charming southern drawl, So, ladies, whatd yall do this week?

And thats when it happened.

Evidently, a mind-altering revelation can surface anywhere. I wasnt having a near-death experience or praying at the feet of a spiritual guru. I suppose, given my love for wine, it shouldnt come as much of a surprise that my life-changing epiphany made its grand entrance in the middle of Chattanoogas new French wine bar. But there it came, in all its agonizing glory. My chest tightened as tiny beads of sweat erupted onto my forehead. A buzzing sound rushed through my ears, drowning out my friends voices and making it sound as though they were talking into the over-sized wine glasses they held in their hands.

The only thing more surprising than the onset of these symptoms was the innocuous topic provoking them. What did I do this week? I honestly couldnt remember. It was all a blur of meetings, errands, car pools and house chores. In my attempt to answer a friends simple question, a wave of disheartening clarity crashed in on me like a tsunami. My life has become a repetitive, uninspiring to-do list.

Get everyone to work and school on time.

Check.

Read and send emails at all hours of the day.

Check.

Sit in countless meetings.

Check.

Go to the grocery store, pick up dry cleaning, make dinner.

Check.

Check.

Check.

Was nothing in this entire week worth remembering? Am I just going through the motions to the point that Im practically catatonic?!

The longer I sat there trying to think of something that could distinguish this week from the last, the harder my heart slammed against my rib cage. My lungs fiercely rejected the air I attempted to gulp down through shallow, shaky breaths, and my hands went completely numb. In one brief moment, Id gone from laughing girls-night-out gal to petrified panic attack victim. Looking for an escape, I mumbled something about needing to pee and beelined for the bathroom.

After a few minutes alone in a small ladies room adorned with faux finishes and Parisian posters, I could feel my heart returning to a normal rhythm. The numbness slowly faded from my fingers. Sucking in deep breaths, I gripped both sides of the sink and leaned in to study my reflection. A sheen of sweat had smeared my make-up into a bad case of raccoon eyes. The long blonde hair, blown into submission that morning with an expensive hair dryer, was now tangled and damp at the roots. A red wine stain ran down the front of my designer shirt, evidence of a frazzled flee from the overstuffed patio chair. Looking at that panicked face, I knew every inch of it. Every freckle and every little wrinkle, down to the tiny chicken pox scar on my jaw line. And yet, it felt like I was looking at a complete stranger.

What in the hell is wrong with you? I said out loud. Of course, it wasnt lost on me that Id simply replaced a panic attack with the equally-worrying issue of talking to myself in a mirror.

I blotted at the wine stain with a damp paper towel, and then smoothed out my hair and makeup as best I could. Taking a deep, slow breath, I squared my shoulders and gave my reflection a cold, hard stare.