On a day when I had no time to spare, I somehow spent two hours on an urgent, unplanned mission. Could it have waited? Absolutely. Did I abandon all responsibility until it was complete? Also yes.

The emergency? Shopping online for a purse. A handbag. A pocketbook. A portable abyss. Call it what you want.

In midlife, my purse needs have evolved. For years, I carried a bag that doubled as a mobile command center. Diapers, snacks, toys, socks, emergency poncho, half a pharmacy. Basically, if someone sneezed or skinned a knee within 50 feet of me, I had a solution in my purse.

My wallet alone needed its own carry-on. It held a checkbook (which I don’t carry anymore!), a punch card for a thrift store that closed in 2014, and about $4.76 in assorted change.

I didn’t realize how ridiculous my purse was until I’d hand it over at the dentist or salon and someone would grunt under the weight like they were deadlifting a toddler. “Whoa. What do you have in here?” A better question: What didn’t I?

But now? Now I crave minimalism. Simplicity. A purse that says: I no longer carry the weight of the world—or fourteen pens, juice boxes, backup granola bars.

I tried downsizing before, but it never stuck. I’d switch to a cute crossbody and immediately need something it couldn’t hold—like an entire paperback novel or an iPad and charging cables. One of my “small” bags could have doubled as a weekender if I packed efficiently.

This time, I wanted a purse that held only the essentials: phone, glasses, tiny wallet, gum, lip balm, keys. That’s it. Big enough to carry what I need. Small enough not to become a bottomless pit. With compartments. Because I am a grown woman, and I need my lip balm to have its own room.

Of course, I fell into the rabbit hole of reviews. Zippers that broke, straps that unraveled, photos of “brand new” bags that looked like they’d been dragged behind a car. I almost gave up.

Then I found the one. It was perfect. Neutral color. Compact. Functional. It also cost more than I planned, which led to an internal debate: save ten bucks and get the one with the striped pattern that looked like a prison jumpsuit, or pay full price and tell my inner cheapskate to hush?

I clicked "purchase." On the neutral one. Crossbody, theft-proof.

Three days later, my beautiful 7.5 x 9-inch mini-bag arrived. Precious. So very small.

If you’re in midlife, please take a moment to rejoice with me. I am no longer in the dark days of perimenopause where every purse had to accommodate incontinence supplies large enough to double as flotation devices because regular overnight maxi pads couldn’t handle the monthly—and trimonthly, biweekly, or biannual—flow. Had to be prepared for surprises.

This bag is freedom. I suppose it could hold maybe two of those monster pads and nothing else. However, it contains ZERO of them. And I’ve never been happier.