What's your bath goods bag?

Never leave home without it

My father-in-law carries around a small travel bag of bath goods with him wherever he goes.

I’ve been fascinated with this habit of his ever since I found out about it a few weeks ago, when we had a bit of a get-together at our place with some members of my wife’s family. It was a lovely way to spend the afternoon.

My wife’s father was in attendance. He’s around 70 years old, and he’s known as a ramblin’ man. He’s the kind of guy who will, on a whim, suddenly get up from his seat at the table and decide that he’s going to take the bus across town. Or walk a few kilometers, just to get the exercise. He’ll do this unannounced, so people will be mid-conversation, pause, and ask, “Wait, where’s Grampa?” He can activate stealth mode on a whim.

I’ve always appreciated his commitment to wandering, and his willingness to travel great distances just to see what he’ll see. It’s especially inspiring in a man his age.

So when the visit at our place had started winding down, it came as no surprise to anyone when Grampa got up and started ambling slowly in the direction of the front door.

What did surprise, however, was when he mentioned in passing that he thought he might wind up at the sento—one of the public baths that can be found in just about any neighborhood in Japan.

“Oh,” someone said to him. “Don’t you need a towel or anything?”

“Nope,” he said. “I’m good. Got everything I need right here.”

He pulled out a small travel bag, which contained a towel, and who knows what else. He didn’t open it up to show us.

“What’s in there?” Someone else asked.

It soon became clear that Grampa carries with him, at all times, a bag full of everything he’ll need if he wants to hit up a sento. This struck everyone gathered as ridiculous, and they laughed. Grampa just shook his head slowly, a knowing smile on his face.

I didn’t laugh, though. I was inspired.

We all know Grampa loves to visit the sento when he can. It’s like a no-frills version of an onsen, usually located in the middle of an urban neighborhood, instead of way out in the countryside or up a mountain, where onsen resorts tend to be. Think of a sauna or a sweat lodge, and the type of people who hang out there. That’s the sento. Good place to relax, get clean, and tune the world out for a while.

To the rest of the family, a trip to the sento is something to prepare for, most likely in advance. You build up to it. It’s a minor event.

Not for Grampa. He never knows where in the city he might wind up on a given day, but he knows damn well that he’ll be ready for the sento if the whim should ever strike him.

That got me thinking: What’s my bath goods bag? What am I so committed to that I carry it around with me, just so that I’ll be ready when the opportunity should present itself?

As is the case with a lot of introspective questions, this one would have been more interesting to ponder before smartphones came along. I used to always carry a book with me wherever I went. I still try to always carry a small notebook and a pen.

Setting aside our pocket supercomputers, and our government-mandated ID, our forms of currency and our house keys, what we carry around with us at all times reveals a lot about us. The fact that, for a lot of people, the answer to the question is nothing reveals a lot about our society.

Back in the day, a significant number of dudes in this country walked around with swords. Think about that. Not saying we should return to that, but that feels extreme by today’s standards.

I like thinking about 1980s New York City. For a lot of reasons. But one being that there were people who walked around with big-ass boomboxes. You might have to rock a block party or whatnot.

Occasionally I see Serious Photographers walking around with neckstrapped telephoto lens-equipped cameras, and I admire their willingness to look ostentatious.

Now I could cheat a little bit, and say that what I carry around with me at all times is mindfulness, or the willingness to stop and watch a butterfly float on the breeze, but I’m referring specifically to physical, external objects.

Not because those intangible processes aren’t valuable—they are. But before we upload ourselves entirely onto the cloud, let’s use the tools we’ve got to engage with the corporeal world around us a bit more, building with one another and defining ourselves individually in the process.