When I throw something away, I always imagine where it will be a year from the moment I toss it. My brain mentally brings me to a creepy dark dumpster in an alley or landfill. As a result of this, it would not be a false statement to call me a pack rat.

However, it is important for readers to note the various forms of a pack rat. There are the “just put it in storage for the grandchildren to see” pack rats, the “I’ll use this eventually” pack rats, and the “I’m going to keep using this until it completely falls apart” pack rats.

I personally fall under the third category. I will keep white shirts until they’re gray, frayed, and hardly recognizable. I will use cheap lipstick until I’m scraping the remnants out of the tube, and I will wear jewelry until I’m tying knots in a metal chains to keep it together.

It can be ridiculous, but why throw something away before exhausting every ounce of use out of it?

My greatest accomplishment by far is a $60 gift I received over a decade ago and have continued to use EVERY day since then. It’s been drawn on, spilled on, thrown around, lost, dragged, and lugged to other countries. It has allowed me to hide failed math tests from my parents. It has seen my high strap and low strap phase, and hosted forgotten rotted bananas in its secret compartment until I knew there was a serious problem. It has been washed so many times that it doesn’t even have a defined color any more.

The mesh cup holders on the side are torn, the chest strap is long gone, and the left shoulder strap that was once 4 inches thick is hanging on by a few centimeters (which is the feature is what I get the most ridicule for).

I received my first and only backpack as a right of passage. In retrospect, the transition from kindergarten to first grade is much more important than a six year old can comprehend at the time. In many ways, kindergarten to first grade is the switch from “learning how to learn” to actually partaking in the learning experience. One becomes responsible for their own actions and independent, and the count up to 12th grade high school graduation begins.

Of course, I did not see my backpack as a right of passage in any way, shape, or form— at the most, I saw it as my first grown-up possession. I still remember the vibrant lavender color it once was, and how my grandma was skeptical to buy me the one I wanted because it came far too low on my back and hindered my walking.

After using my 6 year old persuasion skills, however, I strutted out of the Uncle Dan’s store with a brand new NorthFace backpack feelin’ like a million bucks. Depending on the day, sometimes I still feel that way when I wear it, and sometimes I don’t.

I feel ridiculous acting sentimental over a worn and debatably contemptible accessory, but in many ways, that backpack has carried and still carries significant parts of my life (literally and figuratively).

The time from 6 years old to 18 years old is the majority of my childhood and 2/3 of my life. My backpack was worn through the clear conscience of elementary school, the awkwardness of braces and prank calls in middle school, and the 4 years of “I have no idea what I’m doing” in high school. It was on my back for my first college acceptance, my first kiss, my first dog, and the moment my parents drove away from dropping me off at sleep away camp.

I have a feeling that my backpack won’t make it to college, and to be completely honest, that makes me sad. It’s an item, a temporary material possession that was never supposed to last as long as it has, but throwing out that backpack represents closing the first extended chapter of my life. Hopefully, the next one will serve me just as well as the first, and carry me through my years to come.